n to lunch alone, with the
covers laid for another at the opposite end of the table.

"Hae ye the spare room ready, Emma?"

"Yes, ma'am," said the maid.

"And the sheets done airing? And baith the pillows? And the
pillow-slips--and everything finished?"

The maid was answering "Yes" to each of these questions when a hansom cab
came rattling up to the front of the house, and the old lady leaped out
of her seat.

"It's himself!" she cried, and she ran like a girl to the hall.

The door had been opened before she got there, and a deep voice was
saying, "Is Mrs. Callender----"

"It's John! My gracious! It's John Storm!" the old woman cried, and she
lifted both hands as if to fling herself into his arms.

"My guidness, laddie, but you gave poor auld Jane sic a start! Expected
ye? To be sure we expected you, and terribly thrang we've been all
morning making ready. Only my daft auld brain must have been a wee ajee.
But," smiling through her tears, "has a body never a cheek, that you must
be kissing at her hand? And is this your dog?" looking down at the
bloodhound. "Welcome? Why, of course it's welcome. What was I saying the
day, Emma? 'I'd like fine to have a dog,' didn't I? and here it is to our
hand.--Away with ye, James, man, and show Mr. Storm to his room, and then
find a bed for the creature somewhere. Letters for ye, laddie? Letters
enough, and you'll find them on the table upstairs. Only, mind ye, the
lunch is ready, and your fish is getting cold."

John Storm opened his letters in his room. One of them was from his
uncle, the Prime Minister: "I rejoice to hear of your most sensible
resolution. Come and dine with me at Downing Street this day week at
seven o'clock. I have much to say and much to ask, and I expect to be
quite alone."

Another was from his father: "I am not surprised at your intelligence,
but if anything could exceed the folly of going into a monastery it is
the imbecility of coming out of it. The former appears to be a subject of
common talk in this island already, and no doubt the latter will soon be
so."

John flinched as at a cut across the face and then smiled a smile of
relief. Apparently Glory was writing home wherever she was, and there was
good news in that, at all events. He went downstairs.

"Come your way in, laddie, and let me look at ye again. Man, but your
face is pale and your bonnie eyes are that sunken. But sit ye down and
eat. They've been starving ye, I'm thinking, and