ma!" cried Vixen, kneeling by
her mother's chair, and putting her arms round her ever so tenderly.
"May your path or life be smooth and strewn with flowers when I am
gone. If Captain Winstanley does not always treat you kindly, he will
be a greater scoundrel than I think him. But he has always been kind to
you, has he not, mamma? You are not hiding any sorrow of yours from
me?' asked Vixen, fixing her great brown eyes on her mother's face with
earnest inquiry. She had assumed the maternal part. She seemed an
anxious mother questioning her daughter.

"Kind to me," echoed Mrs. Winstanley. "He has been all goodness. We
have never had a difference of opinion since we were married."

"No, mamma, because you always defer to his opinion."

"Is not that my duty, when I know how clever and far-seeing he is?"

"Frankly, dear mother, are you as happy with this new husband of
yours--so wise and far-seeing, and determined to have his own way in
everything--as you were with my dear, indulgent, easy-tempered father?"

Pamela Winstanley burst into a passion of tears.

"How can you be so cruel?" she exclaimed. "Who can give back the past,
or the freshness and brightness of one's youth? Of course I was happier
with your dear father than I can ever be again. It is not in nature
that it should be otherwise. How could you be so heartless as to ask me
such a question?"

She dried her tears slowly, and was not easily comforted. It seemed as
if that speech of Violet's had touched a spring that opened a fountain
of grief.

"This means that mamma is not happy with her second husband, in spite
of her praises of him," thought Vixen.

She remained kneeling by her mother's side comforting her as best she
could, until Mrs. Winstanley had recovered from the wound her
daughter's heedless words had inflicted, and then Violet began to say
good-bye.

"You will write to me sometimes, won't you, mamma, and tell me how the
dear old place is going on, and about the old people who die--dear
familiar white heads that I shall never see again--and the young people
who get married, and the babies that are born? You will write often,
won't you, mamma?"

"Yes, dear, as often as my strength will allow."

"You might even get Pauline to write to me sometimes, to tell me how
you are and what you are doing; that would be better than nothing."

"Pauline shall write when I am not equal to holding a pen," sighed Mrs.
Winstanley.

"And, dear mamma, if you c