hat death has visited, the feeling that something is gone
which can never, never return. There was, instead, almost a sense of
relief, a feeling of peace. They all tried not to feel it, and
nothing would have made them admit it, even to themselves; but it was
there--one of the most sad and awe-inspiring feelings of that
dreadful day.

Tom Salter left them as soon as he had seen them home, and went up to
his room to change into his every-day clothes. His young, almost
boyish face was very grave and thoughtful. "God help me never to
live to leave such a feeling behind me," he thought to himself
solemnly.

Life after this should have settled down into the usual groove again,
and so Jessie thought, with the difference that a great discomfort
and ever-present dread would be gone. Somehow, though, it did not.

Mrs. Lang, looking ill, and worn to a shadow, seemed grave and
abstracted, and full of thoughts which she did not share with any
one. She was often absent, too, on business of which she did not
speak. At first Jessie noticed none of all this, she thought her
mother's manner was simply the result of the shock and the trouble
she had been through; then, by degrees, it came to her that things
were different, that there was something in the air that she could
not understand or explain, but she felt that changes were impending.

Often when she looked up she found her mother gazing at her
wistfully, it seemed, and questioningly. More than once, too, she
drew Jessie on to talk of her old home and her grandparents, and of
her longing to see them again; and then one day her mother came to
her and asked her if she remembered her grandfather's address!

Jessie knew then that her surmises were correct, and her heart beat
fast with wonderment and hopes and fears, and a thousand questions
poured through her brain.

CHAPTER XII.

SPRINGBROOK AGAIN.

Thomas Dawson was sitting in his chair in the garden enjoying the
warmth of the October sunshine. The weather was unusually warm for
the time of the year, and the little breeze which blew across the
garden was very acceptable. The long graceful tendrils of the
jessamine rose and fell like soft green waves above his head, a
little cloud of dust rose and skidded along the road, to the
annoyance of some lazy cows being driven home to the milking.

But Thomas heeded none of these things, he sat with his head sunk on
his breast, his eyes staring gloomily before him,