Two of the best rooms in the house had been fitted up for Madeline’s special use, and as she walked into them she felt for the first time that day that she had really come home. Here, as elsewhere, there were splendid upholstery, splendid pictures, tastefully designed ceilings, and dim rose-coloured curtains to moderate the light; but besides all this Madeline saw some of the crude but well-loved pictures which brought to her the fond memory of her guardian; there was a little bookcase, containing his favourite volumes; and, above all, there were his favourite plays. She saw all this, but she saw more. Passing on through the sitting-room she looked into the dressing-room adjoining it. She found her dresses laid out, and a smart maid kneeling before a box which was half unpacked. The girl rose and asked which dress her mistress would wear for dinner, but Madeline said-- ‘I don’t know; any one; will you leave me alone, please: and when I want you I will ring.’ The maid retired, and Madeline, left to herself, returned to the sitting-room. She took off her bonnet and cloak, and sat down in an easy chair close to a gipsy table on which stood a silver tray and some tea. She poured out a cup, and, while sipping it, looked with dubious eyes around her. ‘I ought to be happy,’ she said. ‘So I am; so I will be. He is so good and kind! I trust to God he will never be made to repent. If his sister knew--if the world knew--but why should they?--I cannot undo the past, but I can guide the future. Yes, I will bury my dead, as he said, and try to forget.’ A light tap upon the door. Madeline started up, but before she could speak the door opened and a tiny figure came in--a little bright-eyed boy, who ran forward with outstretched hands, and sprang with a joyful cry into her lap. She clasped him fondly in her arms, and kissed him eagerly. ‘My darling, you have come to bid me welcome home?’ ‘Yes, mamma.’ ‘Who sent you?’ ‘Papa. Kiss me again, please. Papa says if I am good you are sure to love me.’ He held up his rosy lips and she kissed them again and again; then she caught him up in her arms and carried him to her dressing-room. She turned over the things in her unpacked boxes and produced some toys--these she gave to the child, embracing him the while. ‘Do you know why I brought these, dear?’ ‘No, mamma, unless because, as papa says, you are so good.’ ‘No,’ she said quietly, ‘it is because I love you, and I want you to love me.’ Late that night Madeline came quietly down from her room and entered the library. Forster was still there; he was smoking a cigar, and looking through a batch of letters which had accumulated during his absence. ‘Why, Madeline, can’t you sleep?’ he asked, as she came forward. ‘No, James, not till I have thanked you for all your goodness to me. Tell me, how can I repay you?’ ‘By being happy in your home.’