Poor weak little woman! It was hard for her to act for herself. How happy she would be to find shelter in some safe harbor, guided there by a stronger hand than her own. With one stroke of a pen she could recall Guy, but the strangest shyness overmastered her. She wandered restlessly about the house, her heart as heavy as lead; and not until daylight was waning, and the long winter evening closing in upon the manor, did she finally start out for the telegraph office, a bit of paper held closely in the hand that was tucked in her muff. * * * * * In a hotel in Paris a party of people was assembled in a small private sitting-room. Against the walls, their lids gaping, were a number of half-filled trunks, and in the paraphernalia that were scattered around was every indication of an imminent departure. Mrs. Fay and Jean bustled busily about, stowing away the many purchases which this city of shops had tempted them to make, stopping now and then to consult Guy as to some detail of the long journey which lay before them. Poor Mrs. Appleton watched them with homesick eyes. She was tired of wandering about in strange lands, hungry for a sight of the little vine-covered cottage which had been empty for so many weary months. Surely no mother had ever given her son a greater love, a more generous sacrifice. "I am a foolish old woman, my dear," she had said to him a few moments since, when he had looked up suddenly and had seen the tears in her eyes. "I suppose it is not unnatural that I should sometimes dream of spending the last years of my life in 'my own home.'" Guy did not answer then. It was a shock to him to discover how much this exile had cost his patient, uncomplaining mother; and, as he sat at the little table in the center of the room, apparently absorbed in straightening out accounts, he was facing the duty which had suddenly been made clear to him. "Poor mother!" he thought, with tender compunction, "I have been a selfish brute." Yet it was not easy for him to depart from the course he had marked out for himself, for, like many another man of strong character, Guy was very obstinate. One glance at his mother's face, however, made him ashamed of his hesitation, and he pushed away his papers and rose to his feet, while he framed the sentence which would determine their return home. Just at that moment there was a knock at the door, and in response to Jean's brisk, "_Entrez_," a servant handed her a cablegram in its blue wrapper, addressed "Appleton, Continental, Paris." Three simple words the message contained, but to the man who read them they made all the difference between light and darkness, between life and death. The message read: Please come home.--HELEN. CHAPTER XX. "PEACE ON EARTH--GOOD WILL TO MEN."