adiance about her old face which had not
been there for many a day.

"Breakfast--we had breakfast in the train. Miss Stella cannot want
breakfast." Mrs. Comerford smiled as she said it. "She made a very
good breakfast in the train."

"She's young and the young want food. 'Tis a good day that's in it,
ma'am, to see you home again--with such a beautiful young lady too.
She'll make the house lively. The first thing she did was to fling her
arms about Shot's neck,--Lady O'Gara's dog, ma'am. For all he's a
proud, stand-off dog, he licked her face."

"Now, don't spoil Miss Stella. Every one spoils her, so I suppose
there's no use expecting you to be the exception."

"She brings her love with her," said Mrs. Clinch. "She's so delighted
with all she sees, and making friends with every one. They'll be won
over by her: even old Tom Kane will give her the key of his garden, as
he calls it, before she's an hour in the place. She'll be into his
strawberry beds that he's so jealous about, you'll see."

Mrs. Clinch went off. Lady O'Gara poured out a cup of tea,
remembering, over all the years, that Mrs. Comerford liked only a
little sugar. She found her slippers and put them on and brought a
footstool for feet to rest upon. She was thinking that this Stella,
the young adopted daughter, explained the change in the woman before
her. Mrs. Comerford had grown much softer. She was still a
remarkable-looking woman, the wreck of stately beauty. In her black
garments, which fell about her in flowing lines, she had the air of a
priestess. Her age showed in her thinness, which was almost
emaciation, and her face was wrinkled and heavily lined. Yet her smile
was more ready than Lady O'Gara remembered and her eyes quieter. They
had been very blue eyes once upon a time--her son had had such blue
eyes--now, they had faded almost to lavender, and they were almost
gentle. Yet there was something in the face, some suggestion of
burnt-out fires, which forbade the idea of a gentle nature, and the
lips were too thin for softness.

"Am I a wreck, Mary?" she asked. "Yes, I know I am. Some one took me
for a Duchess the other day, addressing me as 'Your Grace.' Italy has
dried up my skin. It will hardly revive at my time of life. But I am
happy: you cannot imagine how Stella makes for happiness. Stella and
age between them have broken me down. A child could play with me."

She laughed as she said it. Grace Comerford had no