When she entered her own little parlor she found Emmie lying on the rug in the firelight, in a listless fashion that was habitual with her now. She crept up from the ground rather slowly when she saw her sister; but for once the child's lassitude and evident weakness escaped her notice. "How late you are, Queen!" "Yes, dear, very late; I have been sitting with Miss Cosie, and then with Langley." "Did you get the stuff for little Janie? How tired you look; and how cold your hands are!" as Queenie knelt down mechanically and warmed them over the blaze. "I was just feeling very dull, and wishing that you would come in. I have such dull, stupid thoughts sometimes." "You shall tell me about them presently," returned her sister hastily; "I want to speak to you now. Emmie, I have often told you stories, some of them very sad, and that made you cry; but I have a real story to tell you to-night." "Oh, not a sad one, Queen." "Why not, my sweet?" "I could not bear it to-night," answered the child with a shiver; "I have been seeing pictures in the fire, and they are all the same thing--sad, every one of them; and when I go to sleep at night I always dream of Alice and little Nan, and think I am with them. I have woke up and cried often lately to think what you would do if it were true, and I were obliged to leave you." "Oh, Emmie, for pity's sake, hush! I have had as much as I can bear to-day." "And then I ask God to let me stop a little longer, because I am sure that you would be so lonely without me, unless--" and here the childish face wore a wistful expression. "I wish I were not so young, and then, perhaps, I might help you." "My darling," not understanding her in the least, "you always help me! You are the blessing of my life, and I could not do without you at all. Hush! I will not have any more of this," as Emmie seemed inclined to interrupt her. "You must listen to my story first, it is very interesting and exciting, and is all about Uncle Andrew." And then she narrated to her breathless auditor the whole history of the will, and her whim and all its consequences. "There," she said as she finished, and speaking with an attempt at cheerfulness, "isn't that the nicest fairy story I have ever told you?" "I don't know," returned the child doubtfully. "It is very wonderful, and I do love Uncle Andrew very dearly for leaving you all the money; but I don't like being so terribly rich, Queenie." "No, darling; no more do I." "It was a lovely thought of yours, lending them that money; and it was dear of you to let me have my wish, and for us two to live in this cottage. We shall never be so happy anywhere else, Queen." "Oh, Emmie, I know that too well!" And then, to her own distress and the child's, she suddenly broke down and burst into a fit of weeping. "Never so happy again, little Emmie; never again!" CHAPTER XI. "A GOLDEN-HAIRED CIRCE."