"There's some private party after him," said the young man, thoughtfully. "We can't make out who, but they're not regulars. We nearly got tripped in New York. You've no more to say to me, ma'am?" "No; there is the chief of police driving by in that buggy." The young criminal turned and gave him a cool stare. "How dare you?" she said, wrathfully. "Madam, one of the first points given in my school was never to play faint heart. Act suspicious, and you'll be suspected. If you have no further commands I have the honour to wish you good evening," and bowing like an embryo Chesterfield, he mounted his wheel, and rode away as deliberately as he had come. Miss Gastonguay retraced her steps. The warm beauty of the approaching night had no power to penetrate her soul. The enchanting scene of lawn and garden, stately house and river, was as unattractive to her as a desert would have been. Nothing relieved the unspeakable desolation of her heart; nothing lifted the heavy shadow from her brow. Chelda, too, was moping. What had come to the girl? and she paused beside the reclining chair in which she had been sitting motionless for two hours. "Chelda, are you ill?" "No, aunt, I am not." "You act ill. Is there anything I can do for you?" "Rossignol oppresses me. Would you care to go to Europe?" Miss Gastonguay laid her hand kindly on her shoulder. "My dear, I shall not be much longer with you. When I am gone, go where you like. While I live, let Rossignol be your abiding-place. When we were last in Paris, I looked one day at the crowds surging through the streets, and a great fright came over me. Who among all that horde of strangers would care if I were to drop dead? Here in my own State would be some to say, 'So Jane Gastonguay has gone. I am sorry to hear it.' Later on, you, too, may feel this love of country. I have misgivings about you. I have not trained you aright, but I have got to leave it all. You have been patient with an old woman's whims. Think kindly of me when I am gone, and, if you wish, go now for a few days to visit some of your friends." "I do not wish it," said Chelda, in a dry, hard voice, and turning her head away. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "You will not regret your devotion," said Miss Gastonguay, softly, and leaving her she continued her walk in the direction of the stable. The coachman was just locking up for the night, only leaving open the pony's private door. "Jones," said Miss Gastonguay, "tell McTavish to bring up the steam yacht from the town and keep her at my wharf. I may want a trip at any hour of the day or night. Let Stevens stay with him." "All right, ma'am," replied the man, touching his cap. Then he ventured a question. "I'm afraid you don't feel as spry as you might?" "No, Jones, I don't." "It makes me feel bad myself, ma'am, to hear it," he replied, with so much feeling that she turned abruptly away.