A month previous to the opening of our story her father, widowed at her birth, had married for the third time, his wife being a young and uninteresting Italian woman of the middle class. The marriage, to which Millicent was strongly opposed, had led her to accept the invitation of her half-brother to make him an extended visit in his California home. From the great cases she lifted, with the help of Ah Lam, the household treasures which she had been unwilling to leave behind, in the home which knew her as its mistress no longer. A motley collection of articles had the great trunks enclosed: pictures, books, a large Eastern carpet, a parchment missal of the fifteenth century with beautiful illuminations, a guitar, a little majolica shrine with a figure of San Antonio very much the worse for the journey, a set of delicately wrought silken window and bed hangings of pale sea color, a pair of heavy silver candelabra, with a ponderous packet of wax tapers, and innumerable other knick-knacks. With the willing and ingenious assistance of Ah Lam, this _roba_, to borrow the untranslatable Italian phrase, was disposed about the large room. The neat Nottingham lace curtains, at which Millicent had looked askance, were now hidden beneath the blue-green draperies, embroidered by the hands of the mother whose face she had never seen. The pictures were hung upon the walls, and a deep-hued Egyptian scarf disguised the pasteboard motto, with its friendly welcome. A book-case was improvised by the Chinaman from some old boxes, and covered by Millicent, who unhesitatingly cut to pieces a heavy woollen gown whose color struck her as appropriate to that end. Beside the bed she hung the little shrine of San Antonio, with much grief that the long journey had damaged his saintly toes and fingers. On a table were ranged the candlesticks and the missal, and an old copy of Dante with a mouse-gnawed cover, and Lear’s "Nonsense Book,"--this last because it was an old friend from childhood, which she, being a creature of habit, had forgotten to discard. The complete metamorphosis of the apartment was a work of several days; and only when it was entirely accomplished were Mrs. Deering and her daughter admitted to see the change. Poor Barbara! All the pains and trouble she had taken, all the careful stitches she had set, were unavailing. The new carpet she had bought with her own pocket money was entirely covered by old rugs, some of which were very faded and worn; none of them were as bright and clean as the Kidderminster. The warm knitted afghan had disappeared from the bed, which was covered by a white quilt embroidered in strange floral designs. The very toilet set had been replaced, and the pretty painted candles had been banished.