“Indeed, then, Judy is to do nothing of the sort. Judy is to stay here with me. I am her natural protector under the circumstances,” said little Palma, drawing herself up with an assumption of matronly dignity that was very amusing to the colonel. “Very well, my dear lady. It shall be as you please, or as Miss Judith pleases; only, I do not know how I shall face Mesdames Walling and Moseley without taking her to them.” “I will write a note and relieve you of responsibility in the matter,” exclaimed Palma, rising and going toward a little writing-desk. “But you have not consulted Miss Judith,” said the colonel. “Oh, I know she will stay with us,” exclaimed Palma, going toward the girl and putting her arms around her neck and murmuring: “You will stay with us, will you not, dear Judy? I may call you Judy, may I not? I have known you as Judy, and loved you as Judy, before I ever saw you. Shall I call you Judy?” “Sure and ye may, ma’am!” exclaimed the girl with cordial impetuosity; but then, catching herself up suddenly, she blushed and added softly: “If you please, ma’am, I should like you to call me so.” Palma smiled, kissed her forehead, and then went to her tiny desk and wrote the note to Mrs. Moseley. The colonel had but little time to stay, and soon arose to say good-night. “By the way,” he said, “I had almost forgotten. I am the bearer of an invitation for you all to come and dine with us at Mrs. Walling’s to-morrow, at seven.” Palma looked at her husband, understood his eyes, and answered for both: “Love to Mrs. Walling, and we will go with much pleasure.” Col. Moseley shook hands all around, like the plain, old-fashioned soldier that he was, and then went away. There remained Ran and Judy, sitting on the sofa, and Cleve and Palma at the table. The lovers were comparing notes, giving in their experience of the time while they were separated, speaking in subdued tones that presently sank so low as to be quite inaudible to any other ears than their own; so it might be surmised that Ran was imparting to Judy his new scheme of life for the future. The married pair at the table with the truest politeness ignored the presence of the just reunited lovers, and took up their occupations that had been interrupted by the visitors. Cleve opened his book and resumed his reading, but now in a lower tone, quite audible to Palma, but not disturbing to Ran or Judy. He was reading Marmion, the scene of the meeting between the pilgrim and the abbess on the balcony. But Palma, knitting mechanically, could not listen. She was seized with a terrible anxiety that filled her mind and crowded out everything else. She had, from the impulse of a warm heart, invited Judy to stay, and Judy was staying.