d the story was both new and
interesting to Zoe.

Lulu had not yet submitted when Betty wrote, so the story as told in her
letter left the little girl still in banishment at Oakdale Academy.

Zoe read the letter aloud to Edward.

"Lulu is certainly the most ungovernable child I have ever seen or heard
of," he remarked, at its conclusion. "I often wonder at the patience and
forbearance grandpa and mamma have shown toward her. In their place, I
should have had her banished to a boarding-school long ago, one at a
distance, too, so that she could not trouble me, even during holidays."

"So should I," said Zoe: "she hasn't the least shadow of a claim upon
them."

"No: the captain feels that, and is duly grateful. It is evident, too,
that Lulu's lack of gratitude, and her bad behavior, are extremely
mortifying to him."

"But don't you think, Ned, it was rather hard to insist on her going
back to that ill-tempered, abusive old music-teacher?"

"Yes," he acknowledged with some hesitation. "I rather wonder at
grandpa."

"I wonder how it is going to end," said Zoe: "they are both so very
determined, I should not like to stand in Lulu's shoes, nor yet in his."

A second letter from Betty, received a fort-night later, told how it had
ended: though Betty, not being in Lulu's confidence as Evelyn was, knew
nothing of Capt. Raymond's letter to his daughter, or of Lulu's
confession in reply to it; so her story ended with the statement that
Lulu had at last submitted, been restored to favor, and was at Magnolia
Hall with Evelyn as a companion, all the children who were in health
having been banished from Viamede to save them from the danger of
catching the dreaded fever.

But to go back to the morning when the first instalment of her story was
received.

"It must be a very anxious time for them,--the family at Viamede, I
mean," remarked Edward musingly. "And poor, dear Vi is so young to have
such burdens to bear. What a blessing that she has mamma with her!"

"Yes," said Zoe. "And, oh! I hope the children will get well, they are
such darlings, both Gracie and the baby. I feel very sorry they are so
ill, and yet I can't help rejoicing that my dear husband is able to sit
up again.

"Is that quite heartless in me?" she asked, laying her hand on one of
his, which rested on the arm of his easy-chair; for she was seated in a
low rocker, close at his side.

"I think not," he answered, smiling down into her eyes. "It will do t