"And that was your--your womanhood's home--as well," replied Sybil, hesitating a little to find a suitable word. "Yes, dear; there I had all my joys and sorrows." "And now?" whispered Inna, who was kneeling by her side, stroking one of her soft wrinkled hands. "It is life's sweet after-glow with me; peace after pain and sorrow, like the light in the sky after sunset." "Oh, grand-auntie, how beautiful that must be to you if it is at all like that!" cried Sybil, pointing at a distant window. Outside lay the park, the copse, and surrounding landscape, all aglow with the changeful tints which follow a fair sun-setting. "Yes, dear; and life's after-glow is even more beautiful than that; for instead of being the blending of day and night together, it is the blending of day with day." "Day with day?" lisped thoughtful Olive. "Yes; life's beautiful days here with life's long beautiful day hereafter," returned Madame Giche, her eyes glistening with her own sweet thoughts. "But come, dears, the present time is the day with which you have to do, with all its hopes and opportunities. I want you young larks to sing me the quartette we were talking of the other day. Where is Miss Gordon?" "I am here, Madame Giche," came from a distant window. "Do you require my services?" "Do you play the accompaniment, and let me fancy myself--where shall I say, Sybil?" "Sailing down the river in the park by moonlight, the same as we and Miss Gordon did last summer," was the ready answer. Madame Giche laughed. "But that would be too romantic. Fancy what it would be to come back from such fairyland doings to find myself an old woman, sitting on her hearth, with four magpies chattering around her, asking her to make herself ridiculous." "I don't think you could be that," said flattering Jenny. Then the four swept away to the piano, like a breath of a sweet spring breeze, where Miss Gordon played, and the quartette was rendered fairly well, Madame Giche sitting, a listening shadow, on the hearth. "Thank you, dears," said she, when it came to an end, and a servant announced, "Mary from the farm is come for the two young ladies, Madame." "Was it anything like sailing down the river?" asked Sybil, as they all clustered round her. "It was very sweet and beautiful," said the old lady kindly; then she kissed her two guests "good night," and said, "No; not so late," to her two nieces, when they pleaded to accompany them as far as the five-barred gate. Jenny was really a guest at the farm for a few days, sleeping with Inna, but spending most of her time at the Owl's Nest. It was just what Inna needed, with her pale cheeks and troubled heart.