! My dear child, she was grown up while you were still in the
nursery," said Mr. Montfort. "According to Spanish ideas, it is high
time for her to be married, and I am sure I wish the dear girl all
happiness. We must look over the family trinkets, Margaret, and find
something for our bird of Paradise. There are some pretty bits of
jewelry; but that will keep. Now, if you can stop wondering and
romancing for a moment, May Margaret, I, too, have a letter, about which
I wish to consult you."

"Yes, uncle, oh, yes! I hope he is good as well as handsome, don't you?
She says the Santillo nose is the marvel of all Cuba."

"The Santillo nose may be pickled in brine, my dear, for ought I care; I
really want your attention, Margaret, and you must come down from the
clouds. Here is Anthony Montfort writing for his children."

"_What!_" cried Margaret, waking suddenly from her dream. "What did you
say about the children, Uncle John? Cousin Anthony writing for them?
What can you mean?"

"Why, my love, I mean writing for them," said Mr. Montfort, calmly. "He
is, you may remember, a relation of theirs, a father in point of fact.
He has found an excellent opening in California, and means to stay
there. He says--I'll read you his letter, or the part of it that relates
to the children. Hum--'grateful to you'--ha! yes, here it is. 'Of
course I must make some arrangement about the children. One of the boys
can come to me, but I cannot take care of both, so Basil will have to go
to boarding-school, and Susan D., too. If you would be so good as to
look up a good school or two, I should be ever so much obliged. Basil
can take care of himself, you'll only have to consign and ship him;
perhaps you can get some one to go with the little girl, and see to her
things and all that. It's a shame to call upon you,'--h'm! so forth!
Well, Meg, what do you say?"

But Margaret said nothing. She was sitting with her hands fallen on her
lap, gazing at her uncle with a face of such piteous consternation that
he had much ado to keep his countenance.

"Take them away!" she faltered, presently. "Take away--my children? Oh,
Uncle John!"

Mr. Montfort looked away, and smoked awhile in silence, giving the girl
time to collect herself. Margaret struggled with the tears that wanted
to rush to her eyes. She forced herself to take up the letters that lay
in her lap and fold them methodically. When he saw that her hands
trembled less, Mr. Montfort said, quietly