the other room. The old lady had awaked and was
moving. Mrs. Thrale said in a frightened whisper:--"She will come in
here. She always does. She likes to move about a little by herself. But
she is soon tired."

Said Gwen:--"Will she come in here? Let me see her alone! Do! It will
only be for a few minutes. Run in next door, and leave me to talk to
her. I have a reason for asking you." She heard the bedroom door open,
beyond the passage.

"When shall I come back, my lady?" This reluctance to go seemed passing
strange to Gwen. But it yielded to persuasion, or to feudal inheritance.
Gwen watched her vanish slowly into Elizabeth-next-door's; and then,
perceiving that the mare had sighted the transaction, and was bearing
down towards her, she delayed a moment to say:--"Not yet, Tom!
Wait!"--and returned into the house.

* * * * *

"My dear, God has been good to let you come. Oh, how I have prayed to
see your face again, and hear your dear voice!" Thus old Mrs. Picture,
crying with joy. She could not cling close enough to that beautiful
hand, nor kiss it quite to her heart's content.

Gwen left her in possession of it. "But, dear Mrs. Picture," she said,
"I thought your letter said you were so comfortable, and that Mrs.
Thrale was so kind?"

"What, my Ruth!--that is how I've got to call her--my Ruth is more than
kind. No daughter could be kinder to a mother. You know--I told you--my
child was Ruth. Long ago--long, long ago! She was asleep when I kissed
her. I can feel it still." Gwen fancied her speech sounded wandering, as
she sat down in Granny Marrable's vacant chair.

This story often feels that the pen that writes it must resent the
improbabilities it is called on to chronicle. That old Maisie should
call her own child by the name she gave her, and think her someone else!

"Tell me, dear, what it was--all about it!" Thus Gwen, getting the old
lady comfortably settled, and finding a footstool for herself, as in
Francis Quarles at the Towers. She had made up her mind to tell all if
she possibly could. But it had to be all or nothing. It would be better
not to speak till she saw her way. Let Mrs. Picture tell her own tale
first!

"I want to tell you." She possessed herself again of the precious
hand, surrendered to assist in resettling a strayed head-cushion.
"Only, tell me first--did you know...?"--She paused and dropped her
voice--" ... Did you know that they thought me...?"

"Th