Cousin Marianne was in and out, up-stairs and down, looking well to the ways of her household, keeping every part of the family in place and working smoothly, by using oil or a rasp, as the case might require. I never saw any one who better fulfilled the part of the wise woman of King Lemuel, except that she had no husband to be known in the gates (I always wondered what kind of woman King Lemuel married, after all his mother's instructions. I dare say she was some shiftless, helpless beauty, who could not mend her own hose, and did not know wheat from barley). I must not forget to say that Pierre Le Febre returned to La Manche, having been well rewarded for his great services, which money alone would never pay for. He was not afraid to go back, as he had a plausible story enough to tell of contrary winds and the breaking of his boat, which was indeed a good deal damaged. But it seems he did not find himself comfortable. He fell under suspicion, notwithstanding all his precautions, and he was not well treated by his own family, who never forgave his marrying poor Isabeau. So one night, he loaded his most valued possessions into his boat, along with his wife and child, and ran over to Jersey. He was hospitably received, on account of the great service he had done to my cousin's family, and he settled down into a respectable, steady father of a family, and became, for one in his station, quite a rich man. All this Eleanor wrote me long afterward. Andrew had always said that poor Le Febre had the making of a man in him, and the event showed he was right. It was a delightful novelty to have comrades of my own age to work and play with, for, except poor Lucille, I had never had any girl friend. As the spring came on, as my strength increased and the island became more beautiful with every passing day, I grew more and more content, and should have been well pleased to make Jersey my home as long as I lived. But my mother's health, which seemed so well to have borne the strain of that terrible night and the fatigues of my long illness, now began to fail. She had feverish nights and a slight cough, which made Cousin Marianne look grave whenever she heard it; and she became restlessly anxious to go home, as she said—to see once more the house where she was born, and the places where she had wandered when a child. "It may be an idle fancy," said she one day to Cousin Marianne; "but since I cannot share my husband's grave, I should like to lie beside my father and mother." "You must not give up life for a bad business," said Cousin Marianne. "Wish and try to live for your daughter's sake." "I should strive to live, if striving would do any good," said maman; "but my life is in better hands than mine. As to wishes, I believe I have none, unless it be this one—to see Cornwall once more."