n the
trial. The girl's foot might indeed have slipped and she been run over
anywhere. True, but by her own mother's wheels!

Christmas morning, so glorious and bright without, was gray and sober
within this apartment of a family of strangers, where each face bore
evidence of watching, care, grief.

Cecilia opened her eyes and glanced about her. She was lying on her
own bed in her little chamber at Rome, only some sharp sword-thrust of
circumstance had wholly severed her from the past. Her face was calm,
almost solemn in expression. It seemed natural that her father should
be sitting beside her holding her hand and striving to speak
cheerfully. She was not startled by the fact that brother Jack stood
at the foot of the bed. She noticed, entirely without responsive
emotion, that her mother had concealed her face on father's shoulder,
shaken by uncontrollable sobs. Her first words were:

"Where is San Donato?"

Her family failed to understand her. Mademoiselle Durand, also
tremulous and in tears, heard and hastened away to her own room. She
returned with the little image.

"It is her fancy," murmured the governess.

Cecilia indicated by a gesture that it was to be placed in her
father's hands. Mr. Denvil held it carefully, while the invalid gazed
steadfastly at her saint. They waited for her next words in silence
and suspense. The joy of a convalescent is seldom demonstrative. She
did not speak again for an hour. Then she exclaimed suddenly, in
stronger tones:

"It is Christmas-day and papa has come."

Henry Denvil bent over and kissed the wasted little face, praying in
his heart it might only be spared to him.

Jack looked on, stiff and ill at ease, after the manner of boys in a
sick-chamber. He answered his father's inquiries in constrained and
difficult English, with frequent lapses into French. Four years in a
Swiss school had wrought wonders for Jack, especially as his mother
had left him to take walking tours with his tutors during the summer
vacations. A foreign education had been Mrs. Denvil's idea of
preparation for life as an American citizen, especially at
Foundryville.

There was another lapse into stillness before Cecilia's voice became
again audible.

"If I had not--met with the accident on the Pincio, _would_ you have
come to Rome for Christmas?"

"I fear not, my child."

"Are we to go home with you now?"

"Yes."

Cecilia smiled and closed her eyes. Did she thus understand San
Donato'