“He is your husband, then! And you treat him worse than you would dare to treat any one else in the world, just because he is a gentleman and cannot retort upon you. You just dare to talk to old ’Phia as you talk to him, and she would give you such a tongue-lashing as you would not get over in a month.” “If you do not cease your impertinence at once, Miss, I will give you such a whip-lashing as you won’t get over in six!” exclaimed the angry woman. “No you will not, auntie! If you were to lay a whip upon me, only once, you would repent it all your life, and you would never have a chance to do it again. You are my auntie; but my uncle is my guardian, and he would lead me out of this house and we would never return to it. You know that!” “Oh, Heaven! It is too true, for he loves me not at all!” breathed the poor woman, losing all self-command, and utterly breaking down in humiliation. In a moment the child was at her side—at her feet. “Oh, auntie, poor auntie, don’t cry! I have been naughty, very naughty! And I am sorry, very sorry! Indeed you may strike me now, if you want to, for I do deserve it now!” she said, trying with all her heart to soothe the weeping woman. But Eusebie clasped the child to her bosom and burst into a passion of sobs and tears. “I love you, auntie, dear. I do love you, and I am so sorry I was so naughty,” said the child, clasping the unhappy creature around the neck and lavishing caresses on her. But Eusebie only sobbed the harder for all this. “And uncle loves you, auntie, dear, indeed he does, although you do always tell him that he doesn’t care for you. I know he does, for when you are”—the child was about to say “cross,” but checked herself in time, and continued—“when you are unhappy he looks at you so pitifully.” “Oh, Gloria, you don’t know anything about it, and I don’t want his pity. I am not a dog or a beggar,” exclaimed Eusebie, bitterly, as she put her niece from her lap and hurried from the parlor to her own room, to give unrestrained way to her grief. This heart-sick and brain-sick poor woman was the plague and curse of the household, and such scenes as these were of frequent occurrence. Little Gloria acted always as a peacemaker, and always successfully; only once in a long time did her sense of justice rouse her indignation to the height of upbraiding her “auntie,” and then her quick bursts of temper were followed by as quick repentance and reparation. She was very impulsive— “A being of sudden smiles and tears.” This swift impulsiveness, with its sudden action and reaction, was the keynote to her whole character, the “kismet” of her life. As yet she was the peacemaker of the house, and all within it felt that this had been her mission to the household. Even the old family servants put their heads together confidentially, or shook them wisely, while they whispered: