death, he added, would pass into the possession of Mrs. Dubois and
Adele.

Mrs. Dubois's heart beat with delight and her eyes swam with tears of
pleasure, at the prospect of once more returning to her beloved
Picardy. Yet her joy was severely chastened by the loss of the
Countess, whom she had fondly loved.

Adele felt a satisfaction in the anticipation of being restored to the
dignities of Rossillon, which she was too proud to manifest.

Mr. Dubois alone hesitated in entertaining the idea of a return. His
innate love of independence, together with a remembrance of the early
antipathy the Count had shown to the marriage with his niece, made the
thought repellant to him. A calmer consideration, however, changed his
view of the case. He recollected that the Count had at last consented
to his union with Mrs. Dubois, and reflected that the infirmities and
loneliness of the Count laid on them obligations they should not
neglect. He found, also, that his own love of home and country, now
that it could at last with propriety be gratified, welled up and
overflowed like a newly sprung fountain.

The tornado had spent itself, the fire had rushed on to the ocean, the
atmosphere had became comparatively clear and the weather cool and
bracing.

On the evening before the departure of Mr. Norton and Mr. Lansdowne,
the family met, as on many previous occasions, in the Madonna room. In
itself, the apartment was as cheerful and attractive as ever, but each
one present felt a sense of vacancy, a shrinking of the heart. The
sunny changeful glow of one bright face was no longer there, and the
shadows of approaching separation cast a gloom over the scene.

These people, so strangely thrown together in this wild, obscure
region of Miramichi, drawn hither by such differing objects of
pursuit, bound by such various ties in life, occupying such divergent
positions in the social scale, had grown by contact and sympathy into
a warm friendship toward each other. Their daily intercourse was now
to be broken up, the moment of adieu drew nigh, and the prospect of
future meeting was, to say the least, precarious. Was it strange that
some sharp pangs of regret filled their hearts?

Mr. Lansdowne, who had up to this time been wholly occupied with his
preparations for departure, was sitting, in an attitude betokening
weariness and despondency, leaning his arms upon a table, shading his
face with his hand. A few days of grief and anxiety had grea