ndeed there is plenty of room in here for Eugene extra. But I shall
enjoy more, coming to-morrow or the day after, and then you must all
spare me your mother for an hour or so.'

The train was late of course. There was that strange odd bit of time we
all know so well--of waiting and expectancy, intensified of course in
the present case by the fact that the mother they were about to meet was
literally a stranger to the three children. Even Jacinth was a good deal
paler than her wont, when at last the train slowly steamed into the
station and drew up beside the platform where they were standing.

Would she have known her mother, she asked herself afterwards? Scarcely;
there were several passengers who _might_ have been _the_ one. She felt
almost bewildered when Aunt Alison turned from all, to hurry forward to
greet a slight, girlish-looking figure--girlish in herself, though not
in attire or bearing--who was gazing about her with eager eyes.

'Eugenia.'

'Alison,' and the two sisters-in-law had caught each other's hands and
kissed each other before Jacinth had really taken in that this was
'mamma!'

Then Miss Mildmay drew back without another word than 'Here they are! I
did want to give them over to you, myself, you see,' and her usually
calm voice trembled a little.

And Jacinth felt an arm thrown round her, and the words whispered into
her ear, 'My darling child!' and for almost the first time in her life a
choking sensation that was not pain, and a rush to her eyes of tears
that were not sorrow, made her dimly conscious that she knew her own
nature and its depths less fully than she had imagined.

And then in turn she fell back a little while the two younger ones, with
a glad cry from Francie of 'Mamma, mamma!' and a solemn 'It's me; I'm
Eugene,' from the small brother, were drawn close, close, by the arms
that had not held them for so long, and kissed as they never remembered
having been kissed before.

And somehow--I don't think any of them could ever clearly have told how;
perhaps Mrs Mildmay's maid had a head on her shoulders and was equal to
the occasion--they all found themselves in the landau again; all, that
is to say, except Aunt Alison, who stood waving good-bye to them all
from the curbstone, her face for once actually rosy with excitement.

'Mamma!' said Frances, and then she stopped short. 'It's too lovely, I
can't speak.'

Eugene was stroking his mother's mantle. It was of soft downy material,