Charlie's name was never mentioned in the Wheaton mansion; the events of Christmas morning seemed banished from the memory of the three people who had participated in them. There was nothing to indicate that a change of any kind had taken place or was likely to take place. Once only in the course of the week Miss Fanny remarked laughingly, that she thought Lola was preparing to elope, because all her books, dresses, and trinkets were so neatly packed together. But as no one seemed to join in Miss Fanny's pleasantry, the young lady betook herself to her usual pastime--the novel and the lounge. During the week the weather changed, and heavy storms swept over land and sea, stirring to the depths the waters on which Lola gazed for many a half hour with a kind of stony satisfaction. She had not seen Charlie since the first day of the week, and she often muttered to herself, "Far better death than a life without my love." At last New-Year's morning dawned clear and bright, like a morning in early spring. At an early hour the Wheaton mansion became the scene of great rejoicing. There was a vigorous pull at the bell, and when the door was opened a robust young fellow made his way very unceremoniously into the breakfast-room, and a fresh Irish voice with its rich brogue burst out: "Plaize, mam, and it's a splendid b'y; and nurse says I'm not to stay a minit, but you're to come right aff." Mr. Wheaton threatened to go off with joy this time, his face turned so red. "A boy, mother--think of that!" he shouted, forgetting for once in his life what he deemed his dignity, and for the first time calling his wife anything but Mrs. Wheaton in the presence of strangers or servants. "Pat, my boy, here's something to drink his health [Thank'ee, sur;--and it's a half aigle, shure], but not now; mind you, go right back and stay there till I come, or I'll skin you alive." After this unprecedentedly familiar and jocular speech, he turned Pat out of doors, kissed his wife frantically and rushed up-stairs to dress, as though the boy's life and safety depended on his taking immediate charge of him. In the meantime the door-bell had been rung again, and Mr. Wheaton stopped when halfway up the stairs, there was something so frightened and excited in the manner of the lady who entered the hall-door. "Miss Lola is at home, I think," said the servant in answer to her question; and Mrs. Wheaton, crossing the hall at this moment, turned to look at the strange woman. A little scream, and Miss Myrick--for it was she--asked of Lola, who stood white and ghostly in the doorway, "Is that your mother, Lola? Oh, then I understand it all. Poor Charlie? The woman who could--" Mrs. Wheaton stepped quickly forward. "Stop, Augusta Myrick; not one word more before my child." Mr. Wheaton had descended the stairs, and sprung to his wife, who seemed ready to sink, but Lola, unheeding both, clutched Miss Myrick's arm. "Charlie?" she gasped.