It was this curious, old-fashioned notion of wanting to be loved, that had estranged Maryllia from her wealthy American protectress. It had developed from mere fireside argument and occasional dissension, into downright feud, and its present result was self- evident. Maryllia had broken her social fetters, and had returned to her own rightful home in a state which, for her, considered by her past experience, was one of genteel poverty, but which was also one of glorious independence. And as she restfully reclined under the old rose silk hangings which were to have encanopied that perished beauty from which she derived her own fairness, she was conscious of a novel and soothing sense of calm. The rush and hurry and frivolity of society seemed put away and done with; through her open window she could hear the rustling of leaves and the singing of birds;--the room in which she found herself pleased her taste as well as her sentiment,--and though the faintest shadow of vague wonder crossed her mind as to what she would do with her time, now that she had gained her own way and was actually all alone in the heart of the country, she did not permit such a thought to trouble her peace. The grave tranquillity of the old house was already beginning to exert its influence on her always quick and perceptive mind,--the dear remembrance of her father whom she had idolised, and whose sudden death had been the one awful shock of her life, came back to her now with a fresh and tender pathos. Little incidents of her childhood and of its affection, such as she thought she had forgotten, presented themselves one by one in the faithful recording cells of her brain,--and the more or less feverish and hurried life she had been compelled to lead under her aunt's command and chaperonage, began to efface itself slowly, like a receding coast-line from a departing vessel. "It is home!" she said; "And I have not been in a home for years! Aunt Emily's houses were never 'home.' And this is MY home--my very own; the home of our family for generations. I ought to be proud of it, and I WILL be proud of it! Even Aunt Emily used to say that Abbot's Manor was a standing proof of the stuck-up pride of the Vancourts! I'm sure I shall find plenty to do here. I can farm my own lands and live on the profits--if there are any!" She laughed a little, and rising from the bed went to the window and leaned out. A large white clematis pushed its moonlike blossom up to her face, as though asking to be kissed, and a bright red butterfly danced dreamily up and down in the late sunbeams, now poising on the ivy and anon darting off again into the mild still air. "It's perfectly lovely!" said Maryllia, with a little sigh of content; "And it is all my own!" She drew her head in from the window and turned to her mirror.