It will be our summer home, but in the winter my place is here in New York with my people, who would starve and freeze without me. Guy has agreed to that and will be a great help to me. He need never work any more unless he chooses to do so, for my agent says I am a millionaire, thanks to poor Tom, who gave me his gold mine and his interest in that railroad. And for Guy’s sake I am glad, and for his children, the precious darlings; how much I love them already, and how kind I mean to be to them both for Julia’s sake and Guy’s. Hush! That’s his ring, and there’s his voice in the hall asking for Miss McDonald, and so for the last time I write that name, and sign myself _Margaret McDonald_. ———— _Extracts from Miss Frances Thornton’s Diary._ _Elmwood_, June 15th, —. I have been looking over an old journal, finished and laid away long ago, and accidentally I stumbled upon a date eleven years back. It was Guy’s wedding day then; it is his anniversary now, and as on that June day years ago I worked among my flowers, so have I been with them this morning, and as then people from the Towers came into our beautiful grounds, so they came to-day and praised our lovely place and said there was no spot like it in all the country round. But Julia was not with them. She will never come to us again. Julia is dead, and her grave is in Saratoga, for Guy dare not have her moved, but he has erected a costly monument to her memory, and the mound above her is like some bright flower bed all the summer long, for he hires a man to tend it, and goes twice each season to see that it is kept as he wishes to have it. Julia is dead and Daisy is here again at Elmwood, which she purchased with her own money, and fitted up with every possible convenience and luxury. Guy is ten years younger than he used to be, and we are all so happy with this little fairy, who has expanded into a noble woman, and whom I love as I never loved a living being before, Guy excepted, of course. I never dreamed when I turned her out into the rain that I should love her as I do, or that she was capable of being what she is. I would not have her changed in any one particular, and neither, I am sure, would Guy, while the children fairly worship her, and must sometimes be troublesome with their love and their caresses. It is just a year since she came back to us. We were in the small house then, but Daisy’s very presence seemed to brighten and beautify it, until I was almost sorry to leave it last April for this grand place with all its splendor.