long after midnight; in each grandson's hot,
astonished palm lay a glittering ring or bracelet, "For your wife, some
day!"

"How strangely mamma is acting," Wilhelmina complained to her brother.
"I suppose she is excited by all this?"

"She appears perfectly calm to me," he answered. "I have always told
you, Mina, that you have a tendency to call any one excited who does
anything that you don't expect."

Their mother sat in silence in her room while her maid, a faithful
mulattress of many years' service, undressed her.

"Is that little tin box where I can get it?" she asked at last, when
all was done.

"Yes, madam."

"Are the house-keys here?"

"Yes, madam."

"Then I shall not want you any more. You have always been all that I
could wish, Ella, and I shall miss you. Take this, to remember me by,"
and the woman stared at the watch and chain in her hand.

"But--but--when you come back, Mrs. Lestrange, shan't I--shan't I----"

"If ever I come back, yes. But Miss Wilhelmina will make a good home
for you. Good-night."

Amazed, the woman closed the door, and the house lay in darkness, but
for one lighted room--the room of its mistress.

Mrs. Lestrange went to a wardrobe, dragged out a small tin trunk, no
larger than a leather case, opened it with a key from a private drawer,
and turned out the contents.

These were two sets of plain, warm underclothing, some stout boots, a
heavy skirt and jacket of coarse dark blue stuff, a mackintosh, a cheap
wooden brush and rubber comb. A sensible wallet for her hand and a
canvas bag on a belt under the clothes which she put on quickly, held
some notes and gold. She fingered the coarse, plain handkerchiefs, the
brown Windsor soap, the stout cotton umbrella, lovingly. Over her
thick iron-grey hair, twisted firmly into a plain knot behind the ears,
she pinned a small round hat with a twist of cheap ribbon around it,
slipped her hands into a pair of new cotton gloves, took a seat by her
window overlooking the Central Park, and sat silently for an hour. Her
eyes were fixed on the shadowy bulk of the trees in the park; her hands
were still on her lap: she waited.

Soon the air grew vaguely grey, then white, then a pearly pink. The
trees came out clear, the city sparrows and robins chirped. The milk
carts rumbled loud, and here and there, even in that wealthy quarter, a
few early workers crossed the park paths. It was day. She rose, tied
a thick green veil over he