There were but six days and nights for Missy to dream and hope about her reprieve, and she employed them well. She was white and languid-looking in the morning, but from the first sound of the knocker, the first step heard upon the walk outside, a spot of color burned in her cheeks, and a strange glow shone from her light eyes. She was absent-minded, imperious, impatient. She was living upon a chance, the throw of a dice, and she couldn't say her prayers. She wanted to be let alone, and she hated even her mother when she interfered with this desire. The six days had worn themselves away to one, uneventful, save for the blotted score of Missy's dreams. This day must bring some event, some occurrence, good or bad. It was impossible that Mr. Andrews would go away and offer such a disrespect to, at all events, her mother, as not to come and say good-bye. It was a fixed fact in her mind that he would come. She dressed for it, she waited for it, she counted off the moments, one by one. Not a motion of wind in the trees missed her ears, not a carriage rolled along the road, nor a step crossed the lawn that she did not hear. At last, in the afternoon, there came some steps up from the gate. A group under the trees; for a moment she could not discern them, but presently she saw he was not with them. There came the two ladies, with Jay and Gabrielle, Flora and the latter laughing and romping, and apparently trying to get themselves quieted down before entering the house of their stiff-necked neighbors. Missy came down stairs to find them talking with her mother in the parlor. Flora was in brilliant spirits, the prospect of "dear Europe" again, she said, had quite upset her. Mrs. Eustace was rather overbearing, and less suave and conciliatory than usual. She found herself so near "dear Europe" and a settlement for Flora, that she could afford to be natural for once. She fastened herself upon Mrs. Varian, and was sufficiently disagreeable to cause even that languid lady to wish the visit over. Flora, sweet young thing, stood to her guns manfully till the very last minute, and made Missy's cheeks burn and her eyes glow. Though she knew she had given her whatever success she would ever have, and had played into her hand, and thrown up her own game in a pet, she could not hear her calmly. "We are all so eager to get off," she said. "I was telling the Olors they mustn't think it uncomplimentary to Yellowcoats, though it does sound so! I have had a _lovely_ time. I never shall forget it! A beatific summer! And mamma has enjoyed it, too, though she has had a great deal of care and worry getting things into shape after those dreadful servants that we found there. But poor Mr. Andrews has had such a horrid time ever since he took the place that I think he fairly longs to get away, and never see it again. 'Thank heaven, it's the last day of it!' he said this morning, poor dear man, with such an emphasis."