"But it's not his fault," remonstrated Bea. "Uncle Ridley has a right to leave his money and house where he pleases; and I'm sure I can't see what right we have to fuss, especially after all he's done for us." "We have too much to be thankful for to make complaints of any kind," said Mrs. Dering, looking out of the window, as the gate was heard to slam. "There comes a boy! You may go to the door, Kat, as you don't appear to be doing anything." Kat lifted herself from the floor with a yawn, and strolled lazily out to the door, but came back in a moment, with quicker steps, and less color in her face. "It's a despatch," she said, holding out the envelope that always bears alarm in its very face; and Mrs. Dering took it quickly, while the girls hung round her chair in anxiety. Was Olive or Jean sick? Neither. The paper unfolded, briefly read: "I will be home on Wednesday with Ernestine. She is quite ill. Meet the train with an easy carriage and pillows, and with Dr. B. "OLIVE." For a moment not a sound broke the stillness, then Mrs. Dering dropped the paper, and hid her face in her hands, and the girls knew that her first thought was to return thanks for this answer to her long, yearning prayers. A moment after, it was as though a whirlwind had struck the peaceful room; no one seemed to know, in the excitement that possessed them, just what it was they wanted to say or do, and between the joy and anxiety that the news occasioned, they all laughed and cried alternately. "To-morrow is Wednesday, and Ernestine will be here. Oh, don't it seem too happy to be true," cried Kittie, wiping away her tears with a strand of ruffling. "How do you suppose it ever happened? I can hardly wait; what shall we do to make time pass?" There proved to be plenty to keep their hands in keeping with their thoughts, for a room must be prepared for the invalid, and thoroughly prepared, too. They went to work on it that afternoon, first building a bright fire in the great fire-place, and throwing open all the windows to let the sunshine pour in. How strange it seemed; how happy, and yet how sad! Ernestine coming home! Not dead nor lost, but coming home, feeble and helpless! Where had she been all these long, weary months? and had any of their heart-aches and longings reached her? Perhaps she had been sick and alone, had not known of their eager search, or been able to drag herself back to them.