o felt
perfectly at home.

"Mrs. Amy is asleep, and I don't like to disturb her. She is unusually
nervous this morning. Will you see the Colonel instead?" the girl said,
awed by Eloise's air of authority.

"My business is with Mrs. Amy, but perhaps I'd better see Col. Crompton
first," she replied.

Mrs. Biggs and Peter were in the house by this time, and heard what
Eloise was saying.

"Better not," Peter began. "I don't know as you can see him. You stay
here. I'll inquire."

He started up the stairs, followed by Eloise, who had no idea of staying
behind.

"Wait," he said, motioning her back as he reached the Colonel's door,
and saw her close beside him. "Let me go in first."

He left the door ajar and walked into the room where the Colonel was
sitting just as he had sat the morning before, when Jake's letter and
Eloise's note were brought to him. He had not slept at all during the
night, and was in a trembling condition, with a feeling of numbness in
his limbs which he did not like.

"Well?" he said sharply, as Peter came in, and he saw by his face that
something had happened. "What's up now?"

"Nothing, but Miss Smith, the teacher," Peter replied. "She wants to see
you."

"Miss Smith, the normal? Do you mean Eliza Ann? Tell her to go away. I
can't see anybody," the Colonel said.

"I'll tell her, but I'm afraid she won't go," Peter replied, starting
for the door, through which a little figure came so swiftly as nearly to
knock him down, and Eloise, who had forgotten her lameness, stood before
the astonished Colonel, her face glowing with excitement, and her eyes
shining like stars as she confronted him.

Old as he was, the Colonel was not insensible to female beauty, and the
rare loveliness of this young girl moved him with something like
admiration, and made his voice a little softer as he said, "Are you
Eliza Ann Smith? What do you want?"

"I am not Eliza Ann," Eloise answered quickly. "I am Eloise Albertina
Smith. My father was Homer Smith; my mother was Eudora Harris, from
Florida, a concert singer, till she lost her mind and was put in a
private asylum in San Francisco. You took her out, and she is here. You
call her Mrs. Amy. She never told me of you. I don't know why. She never
talked much of her girlhood. I don't think she was very happy. She sent
me this cloak, and that's how I knew she was here. I have worn it many
times when a child. I knew it in a moment, and I have come to see her.
Where