rally a
very reticent and grave man, on this night he laughed and talked so
gaily that the very servants noticed the change. The fact was he felt a
sense of relief at having unburdened his mind, and felt as though by
writing out that confession he had laid the spectre which had haunted
him for so long. His daughter was delighted at the change in his
spirits, but the old Scotch nurse, who had been in the house since
Madge was a baby, shook her head--

"He's fey," she said gravely. "He's no lang for the warld."

Of course she was laughed at--people who believe in presentiments
generally are--but, nevertheless, she held firmly to her opinion.

Mr. Frettlby went to bed early that night, the excitement of the last
few days and the feverish gaiety in which he had lately indulged
proving too strong for him. No sooner had he laid his head on his
pillow than he dropped off to sleep at once, and forgot in placid
slumber the troubles and worries of his waking hours.

It was only nine o'clock, so Madge stayed by herself in the great
drawing-room, and read a new novel, which was then creating a
sensation, called "Sweet Violet Eyes." It belied its reputation,
however, for it was very soon thrown on the table with a look of
disgust, and rising from her seat Madge walked up and down the room,
and wished some good fairy would hint to Brian that he was wanted. If
man is a gregarious animal, how much more, then, is a woman? This is
not a conundrum, but a simple truth. "A female Robinson Crusoe," says a
writer who prided himself upon being a keen observer of human
nature--"a female Robinson Crusoe would have gone mad for want of
something to talk to." This remark, though severe, nevertheless
contains several grains of truth, for women, as a rule, talk more than
men. They are more sociable, and a Miss Misanthrope, in spite of Justin
McCarthy's, is unknown--at least in civilised communities. Miss
Frettlby, being neither misanthropic nor dumb, began to long for some
one to talk to, and, ringing the bell, ordered Sal to be sent in. The
two girls had become great friends, and Madge, though by two years the
younger, assumed the ROLE of mentor, and under her guidance Sal was
rapidly improving. It was a strange irony of fate which brought
together these two children of the same father, each with such
different histories--the one reared in luxury and affluence, never
having known want; the other dragged up in the gutter, all unsexed and
besmir