"They think she is fey! Miss Corbet." "Fey!" I repeated. "What is that?" "Why, just fey! When any strange alteration comes over a person as from close to liberal or from fretful to pleasant or the other way, people say they are fey—and then they are not long for this world." "Oh, that is it. Well, we will not be alarmed for Mrs. Philippa just yet," said I. "We shall see how she is to-morrow." But to-morrow brought no alteration in Mrs. Philippa's mood. Amabel and I waited on her every morning. Sometimes she would admit us, and oftener we were sent away, and bid not to be troublesome little hypocrites, pretending what we did not feel. On these occasions, Tupper always came outside the door and dismissed us with the same remark. "My mistress is not quite herself this morning, ladies. Another time I am sure she will be happy." I suppose she was quite herself, but it seemed more as if she were somebody else the next morning, she was so very gracious. We found her in the midst of a wonderful litter, overseeing Tupper's occupation of packing a great mail, while another stood by filled to the brim. I could not but wonder that she should take so many things when she was only going to stay a fortnight. Mrs. Philippa invited us to sit down, and seeing that my eyes reverted to the great trunk, she condescended to explain that she was not going to take all these things with her. "Not at least at present!" she added with a queer little blush and smile. An idea darted through my head, but it was so preposterous that I rejected it directly. "I hope you will be very kind to my sisters when I am gone!" said Mrs. Philippa. "My Sister Chloe is a good creature, though she is not very strong minded. Poor thing, I wish I could see her better. And Sister Deborah is a good creature too. We have not been on the best of terms always. Deborah is sometimes rather too officious, but she is a good creature. I am glad she will have your society while I am away." The idea came back and did not go away quite so easily. Mrs. Philippa went on clearing out her drawers, and bestowed upon us many bits for our patchwork, silks and crewels for our work, pincushions, and other little presents, and at last unlocked her jewel case and took from it two boxes. "This necklace, my dear, was your mother's before it was mine, and you will like it none the loss on that account. Yours, niece Corbet, was brought me many years ago from over sea. Keep them to remember me by!" She then dismissed us with great kindness. "What does she mean?" asked Amabel, quite bewildered, as we went to our bedroom to put away our gifts. "One would think she never expected to come home again!" "Perhaps she doesn't!" said I. "What do you mean, Lucy. I see nothing like dying about her." "I was not thinking of dying, but of something else!" I answered. "However, time will show."