ow the reason why. Yes, I have been talking to Horace, and I
understand your feeling; and if it were all to come again,
perhaps I might act differently; but it is too late now, and
it matters little, since you are happy at last."

"Aunt Barbara, I have been happy----"

"You see, Madeleine, your mother was my very dearest friend;
all your love has been for your father, and that is only
natural; but some day, perhaps, you will understand what a
mother might have been to you, and then, my dear, you will
care for me also a little, knowing how dearly I loved yours."

"I know," said Madelon, "and I do love you, Aunt Barbara, but
I must always care for papa most of all."

"I know, my dear; it is only natural, and from what Horace
tells me, he must have deserved your love." And with those
words, Mrs. Treherne in some sort forgave the man who had been
the one hatred of her life, and won the heart of the girl
beside her.

"Aunt Barbara," she cried again, "I do love you." And this
time Mrs. Treherne believed her.

CHAPTER VII.

Conclusion.

The hotel at Chaudfontaine was closed for the winter. Every
window in the big white building was shuttered, every door
barred; the courtyard was empty; not a footstep, nor a voice
was resounded. Nevertheless, an open carriage from Liege
stopped in front of the gate, and two people getting out,
proceeded to look through the iron bars of the railing.

"Was I not right?" said Madelon. "I told you, Horace, it would
be closed for the winter, and so it is."

"I don't care in the least," he replied. "If it affords me any
gratification, Madelon, to look through the railings into that
courtyard, I don't see why I should not have it."

"Oh! by all means," she answered; "but it is just a little
tame, is it not?--for a sentimental visit, to be looking
through these iron bars."

"That is the very place where I sat," said Graham, not heeding
her, "and took you on my knee."

"I don't remember anything about it, Monsieur Horace----"

"Nothing, Madelon?"

"Well, perhaps--you gave me a fish, I remember--it was the fish
that won my heart; and I have it still, you see."

"Oh! then, your heart was won?"

"A little," she answered, glancing up at him for a moment; and
then, moving on, she said, "See here, Horace, this is the
hawthorn bush under which I slept that morning after I had run
away from the convent. How happy I was to have escaped! I
remember standing at this gate afterwards ea