"'There has been an awful scene,' she wrote, 'poor dear mother has been so ill. Father thinks that Alwyn has done something very wrong, but of course neither mother nor I believe it for a moment, though it cannot be denied that appearances are terribly against him. Forgive me, dearest Greta, if I do not enlarge on this painful subject. We do not know what has become of Alwyn; but we think he has enlisted.' "This was the last letter I received from Olive. Before many months had passed she died at Rome, and her mother did not long survive her." CHAPTER XVI. BUSY DAYS. "Rely upon it, the spiritual life is not knowing or learning, but doing. We only know so far as we can do; we learn to do by doing; and we learn to know by doing; what we do truly, rightly, in the way of duty, that and only that we are."--_Rev. Frederick Robertson_. When Alwyn heard that Greta was downstairs, he brightened perceptibly. "She is a dear creature," he said; "except in looks she has not changed a bit. She used to be rather a pretty girl,--interesting-looking, that was the word for Greta; but she is very graceful still. Will you give my love to her, Mrs. Luttrell? I shall hope to see her to-morrow or the next day," and then he turned wearily on his pillow, as though talking were too great an effort. The following afternoon Greta came earlier; but, as she was unable to stay long, Olivia found an opportunity of going round to Mayfield Villas. It was just in the gloaming,--Aunt Madge's rest hour, as she called it,--and there was unmistakable gladness in her voice, when Olivia's tall figure appeared on the threshold. "Welcome, welcome, little stranger," she said, merrily; "do you know, Livy, that you have played truant for four whole days. I was just thinking of sending Deb round this evening to know if anything were the matter. Oh, I see," as her bright, penetrating glance read her niece's face. "You have something wonderful to tell me. Draw up your chair and I will be as quiet as a mouse. I am a splendid listener, as my dear Fergus used to say." "Something wonderful," repeated Olivia, breathlessly. "Why, Aunt Madge, I feel as though I were in the third volume of a sensational novel. What do you think? Robert Barton, whom Marcus found starving on a doorstep, is Mr. Gaythorne's long-lost son, Alwyn." It was evident that Mrs. Broderick was intensely surprised, for she quite flushed up with excitement. "Go on. Tell me everything from the beginning. I will not interrupt," she said, quickly, and Olivia, nothing loath, gave a graphic account of the afternoon at Galvaston House. "Is it not grand, Aunt Madge?" she finished, but Mrs. Broderick's voice was not so steady as usual as she answered,-- "So the blessing has come to him, and he will have his heart's desire; but there is a heavy load laid on him, too, poor, stricken man. Oh, Livy, we must just pray for him until he is able to pray for himself."