The old commodore, resisting all John Palmer’s hospitable entreaties to spend the night at the Manor House, and declaring that he never slept out of his own bed if he could help it, ordered the carriage and the saddle horses to be brought to the door that he and his party might return to The Breezes. “Mamma, dearest,” whispered Em., coming to the side of her beautiful lady mother—“mamma, dearest, leave me here for a few days with my _poor mother_, till she gets used to thinking of this change. Her heart is almost broken, mamma. You will leave me here a little while?” “Yes, tender soul, I will leave you here to comfort your ‘poor mother.’ My own heart bleeds for that ‘poor mother.’ I will leave you with her for the present. It will not be for long, however; Susan’s own sense of right will cause her to bring you to me very soon.” John and Susan Palmer were touched even to tears when they learned that Em. was to be left with them for the present. “Just when he has returned and they have found her, and the lady so fond of her even before she knew who the child was!” whimpered Susan, drying her eyes on her apron. “‘Sich is life,’” said John, in lack of anything else to say, and never had he quoted his favorite scrap of philosophy more _out_ of place. When the commodore and his party were entering the carriage and mounting the horses, Susan Palmer and Em. stood with the lantern to light them. When they had gone, Susan still lingered as if spellbound to the spot. “What is the matter, mother dear?” inquired the girl. “I was thinking, Em., that, after all, my poor baby did die.” “Oh, dear mother, don’t use that word that you have so often told me isn’t true. The little baby didn’t die. It went to heaven with your own children, and instead of the baby on earth, you have another angel in heaven—an angel daughter as much fairer and brighter than she could have been on earth, as—look up, dear mother!—as that beautiful, brilliant star you see overhead, is fairer and brighter than this dull lantern we hold.” When they re-entered the house, Em. said: “I am going upstairs to send old Aunt Monica to bed, and to take her place by poor Aunty Whitlock. I can never believe she was wicked at heart.” Meanwhile, Commodore Bruce and his party pursued their moonlight journey home, where they arrived about two o’clock in the morning. To their surprise they found the family all up and the house lighted above and below. “They must have sat up for us. It was foolish for them all to sit up for us,” said the old commodore, as he led the way into the house. They were met in the drawing-room by Mrs. Templeton. “Did you meet the messenger?” inquired that lady. “No; what messenger?” “Aleck was sent to the Wilderness to tell you.” “What?” “Malvina Warde is dead.” “DEAD!” echoed the whole party in consternation. “Yes.” “When?” “How did it happen?”