e
front steps in my muddy shoes and she bade me go round to the back
door. Poor Mrs. Tracy!'

During the next few days Jerrie stayed with Maude, who constantly grew
weaker and weaker, and who asked about every hour if anything had been
heard from her uncle since his message that he was coming.

'I shall never see Harold,' she said to Jerrie; but I must live till
uncle Arthur comes, and you are put in your right place.'

And at last, one lovely September morning, a telegram was brought to
Frank from Charles, which said the travellers would be home that
afternoon, and that the carriage must be sent to meet them.

CHAPTER XLIX.

TELLING ARTHUR.

Who should do the telling was the question which for some time was
discussed by Frank and Judge St. Claire and Jerrie. Naturally the task
fell upon the latter, who for three or four days prior to Arthur's
arrival remained altogether at the Park House, watching by Maude, and
going over and over again in her mind what she should say and how she
should commence.

At last the announcement came that Arthur was in Albany, and then it
seemed to Jerrie that she had suddenly turned into stone, for every
thought and feeling had left her, and she had no plan or action or
speech as she moved mechanically about Arthur's rooms, making them
bright with flowers, especially the Gretchen room, which seemed a bower
of beauty when her skilful hands had finished it. Once, as she was
passing through the hall with her arms full of flowers she met Mrs.
Tracy, whose face wore a most forbidding expression as she said:

'I hope you will leave a few flowers for Maude. You know she likes them
so much.'

Jerrie made no reply, but by the pang of resentment which shot through
her heart at the smallness of the woman, she knew she was not past all
feeling, and that there was still something human in the stone, as she
had styled herself.

Slowly the day wore on, every minute seeming an hour, and every hour a
day, until at last Jerrie heard the carriage driving down the avenue,
and not long after the whistle of the engine in the distance. Then,
bending over Maude and kissing her fondly, she said:

'Pray for me, darling, I am going to meet my father.'

Arthur had been very quiet during the first part of the journey from San
Francisco, and it was with difficulty that Charles could get a word from
him.

'Let me alone,' he said once, when spoken to. 'I am with Gretchen. She
is on the tra