Madame Le Conte had missed her afternoon nap, and was much fatigued by the unusual exertions and excitement of the day.

It was quite early when she dismissed her niece for the night—so early that as Floy (or Ethel, as we should perhaps now call her) passed into her own apartments and stood for a moment before a window of her bedroom looking toward the west, she saw that the glow of the sunset had not yet faded from the sky.

She, too, was weary, but felt no disposition to seek her pillow yet, though the bed with its snowy drapery looked very inviting.

She was glad to be alone; she wanted time to collect her thoughts, to compose her mind after the constant whirl of excitement of the past two days.

Her spirit was buoyant with hope to-night; she would find her long-lost mother, and Espy would find her; for that he would search for her, that he would be true to her, she never doubted.

And there was no bar to their union now; now that she was possessed of twice the fortune she had resigned, Mr. Alden would be only too glad to give consent.

The blissful certainty of that was the greatest happiness this sudden gift of wealth had brought or could bring to her.

But there were minor ones which she was far from despising. She thought with a thrill of joy of the ability it gave her to show her gratitude and affection to those who had befriended her in adversity, and to relieve poverty and distress.

And then the removal of the necessity of laboring for her own support—what a relief it was! what a delightful sense of ease and freedom she was conscious of, as, turning from the window, she glanced at her luxurious surroundings and remembered that she would not be called up in the morning to a day of toil; that she might choose her own hours for rising and retiring; that she would have time and opportunity for the cultivation of mind and heart, for the keeping up of her accomplishments, and for many innocent pleasures that want of means had obliged her to forego during the past year!

The communicating doors between her apartments stood wide open, giving a free circulation of air. She sauntered through the dressing-room into the boudoir beyond, a beautiful room looking out upon the lake.

A cool, refreshing breeze gently stirred the curtains of costly lace and kissed the fair cheek of our heroine as she ensconced herself in an easy chair beside the window, and, with her elbow on its arm, her chin in her hand, gazed out over the dark waters, where she could faintly discern the outlines of a passing row-boat and the white sails of two or three vessels in the offing.

A tap at the outer door, and Kathleen put in her head, asking:

“Shall I light the gas for you, Miss—Miss—”

“Ethel,” returned her young mistress, smiling. “Not here, Katty, but in the bedroom. And turn it quite low. The moon will be rising presently, and I shall sit here till I see it.”

“If you’ll excuse me, miss, but you do look lovely in that white dress and them pearls,” said the girl, stepping in and turning an admiring glance upon the graceful figure at the window. “They was just made for the likes of you, wid your shining eyes, your pink cheeks, and purty red lips, an’ your skin that’s the color o’ cream an’ soft an’ fine an’ smooth as a babby’s.”

Ethel shook her head and laughed.

“Ah, Katty, you have been kissing the blarney-stone,” she said. “My cheeks are pale and my skin dark compared with yours. And your sunny brown tresses are far prettier, to my thinking, than my own darker locks.”

“Och, Miss Ethel, an’ it’s mesilf that would thrade aven and throw in a thrifle to boot!” replied Kathleen, with a blush and a smile. “But it’s attendin’ to yere orders I should be, and it’s proud I’ll be to attind to ’em if ye’ll be plazed to ring whin I’m wanted,” she added as she courtesied and left the room.

“They are certainly very beautiful,” thought Ethel, looking down at the pearls on her wrist gleaming out whitely in the darkening twilight, “the dress, too, with its exquisite lace. And I—I seem to have lost my identity with the laying off of my mourning!” And a tear fell, a sigh was breathed to the memory of those for whom she had worn it.

“Yet why should I grieve any longer for them, dear as they were to me?” she thought; “for them, the blessed dead whom I would not for worlds recall to earth.”

A hush came over her spirit; she forgot herself and her changed circumstances as she seemed to see those beloved ones walking the golden streets, casting their crowns at Jesus’ feet, and to hear the distant echo of their voices singing the song of the redeemed.

And one day she should join them there and unite in their song; but ah, what a long, weary road must be travelled first! how many foes there were to be overcome, how many dangers and temptations to be passed through on the way!

The Saviour’s words, “How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom,” came forcibly to mind, and she trembled at thought of her newly-acquired possessions, and lifted up her heart to Him for strength to use them aright.

Then she fell to considering the duties of her new situation, and saw very plainly that one of the first was to devote herself to the task of making her aunt as comfortable and happy as possible.

But she had been musing a long while: the moon rode high in the heavens, the night wind had grown cool and damp. She rose, dropped the curtain, and withdrew to her dressing-room to prepare for her night’s rest.

No life is so dark as to be utterly without blessings, none so bright as to be wholly exempt from trials. Ethel’s rose did not prove a thornless one. Madame Le Conte was exacting in her affection, and made heavy draughts upon the time and patience of her niece.

The young girl soon found that her cherished plans for the improvement of her mind must be given up, except as she could prevail upon her aunt to join her in the effort by listening to books worth the reading, which was very seldom, the Madame having no taste or appetite for solid mental food.

She wanted Ethel with her constantly in her waking hours, chatting with or reading to her, and her preference was always for the latest and most exciting novels.

Ethel grieved to learn, what indeed she had suspected all along, that her new-found relative was utterly worldly. Madame Le Conte had not entered a church for years; and though a very handsomely-bound Bible lay on the table in her boudoir, it was never opened—never till Ethel’s advent into the household; but she was not long in persuading her aunt to permit her to read aloud to her a few verses every day.

The Madame consented to gratify her darling, but did not always take note of what was read. Still Ethel persevered in sowing the seed, hoping, believing that some day it would spring up and bear fruit.

She succeeded also, after some weeks of persistent effort, in coaxing the Madame to accompany her occasionally in her attendance upon the services of the sanctuary.

Ethel had been religiously brought up, had early united with the church, and though but young in years, had attained, through the blessing of God upon the trials of the past months, to some maturity of Christian character; had learned in her own personal experience how sweet it is to cast all our burdens of sin and sorrow and care upon the Lord; how a sense of His love can sustain in every trial, temptation, and affliction.

And as day by day she perceived the restless unhappiness of her aunt, groaning and fretting under her physical sufferings, weighed down with remorse on account of something in her past life, Ethel knew not what, and sometimes full of the cares that riches bring, especially to such as find in them their chief treasure, she longed with an ever-increasing desire to lead the poor lady to this divine Friend and see her become a partaker of this blessed trust.

But the Madame foiled every attempt to introduce the subject, always broaching some other topic of conversation, or closing her eyes as if drowsy and politely requesting her niece to be silent that she might take a nap.

There were two other subjects that, for the first few months after they came together, the Madame avoided with more or less care—Ethel’s previous life and her own; and perceiving her aversion, the young girl forbore to speak of them.

She did not, however, forget or neglect her old friends, but wrote to those at a distance of her changed circumstances, and, as the Christmas holidays again drew near, found great pleasure in preparing a handsome present for each.

Hetty and her mother were remembered in like manner, and treated to an occasional drive in the Madame’s fine carriage; only occasional because they were so busy, and Ethel generally accompanied in her drives by the Madame herself, and her maid.

Hetty rejoiced greatly in the improved fortunes of our heroine, but not more than Miss Wells and Mr. Crosby. Both of these wrote, congratulating her heartily, and the latter added that he had vastly enjoyed communicating the tidings to Mr. Alden, and seeing him almost ready to tear his hair with vexation that he had been the means of keeping such an heiress, or perhaps rather such a fortune, out of his family, for Espy had gone and left no clue to his whereabouts.