Oh, how Edith yearned to take that sweet young creature to her bosom, and concentrate in one wild, passionate hug the love of so many wasted years; but Nina must not be unduly startled if she would make her comprehend what she had to tell, and conquering her own agitation with a wondrous effort she sat down upon the bed, and said, "How is my darling? Is her head all in a twist?" Nina smiled, a rational, knowing smile, and answered, "There wasn't the least bit of a twist in it till Arthur told me about that in the graveyard, and then it began to thump so loud, but with you sitting here, I'm better. You do me so much good, Miggie. Your eyes keep me quiet. Where do you suppose she is--the other Miggie; and how did she get out of the coffin?" "Nina," said Edith, "can you understand me if I tell you a story about a little girl who resembled your sister Miggie?" Nina liked stories and though she would rather have talked of the real Miggie, she expressed a willingness to listen, and by the dim candle light Edith saw that the blue eyes, fixed so intently upon her, still retained the comparatively rational expression she had observed when she first came in. Moving a little nearer to her, she began, "A great many years ago, nearly eighteen, we will say, a beautiful little girl, eight years old, I guess, with curls like yours, waited one night in just such a house as this, for her father, who had been long in Europe, and who was to bring her a new mother, and a dear baby sister, two years old or thereabouts." "Didn't I wear my blue dress, trimmed with white?" Nina asked suddenly, her mind seeming to have followed Edith's, and grasped the meaning of what she heard. "I dare say you did," Edith answered; "at all events this little girl was very beautiful as she waited in the twilight for the travellers." "Call the little girl Nina, please, I'll get at it better then," was the next interruption; and with a smile, Edith said, "Nina, then, waited till they came--her father, her new mother Petrea, and--" "Beautiful Petrea," Nina exclaimed, "la belle Petrea, black hair like yours, Miggie, and voice like the soft notes of the piano. She taught me a heap of tunes which I never have forgotten, but tell me more of the black-eyed baby, Nina's precious sister. I did hug and squeeze her so--'la jolie enfant,' Marie called her." Nina seemed to have taken the story away from Edith, who, when she ceased speaking, again went on: "Eloise Marguerite was the baby sister's name; Eloise, for a proud aunt, who, after they came home, would not suffer them to call her so, and she was known as Marguerite, which Nina shortened into Miggie, Nina darling," and Edith spoke sadly now. "Was your father always kind to Petrea?" There was a look in Nina's face like a scared bird, and raising her hands to her head, she said,