“Don't admire me,” said Charles Edward, “or you'll get me so bellicose I shall have to challenge Lyman Wilde. Poor old chap! I believe to my soul he's had the spirit to make off.” “Speak gently of Lyman Wilde,” said Lorraine. “I never forget what we owe him. Sometimes I burn a candle to his photograph. I've even dropped a tear before it. Well, children?” She turned her bright eyes on us as if she liked us very much, and we two stood facing them two, and it all seemed quite solemn. Suddenly Charles Edward put out his hand and shook Mr. Dane's, and they both looked very much moved, as grandmother would say. I hadn't known they liked each other so well. “Do you know what time it is?” said Lorraine. “Half-past eleven by Shrewsbury clock. I'll bake the cakes and draw the ale.” “Gee whiz!” said Mr. Dane. I'd never heard things like that. It sounded like Billy, and I liked it. “I've got to catch that midnight train.” For a minute it seemed as if we all stood shouting at one another, Lorraine asking him to stay all night, Charles Edward giving him a cigar to smoke on the way, I explaining to Lorraine that I'd sleep on the parlor sofa and leave the guest-room free, and Mr. Dane declaring he'd got a million things to do before sailing. Then he and Charles Edward dashed out into the night, as Alice would say, and I should have thought it was a dream that he'd been there at all except that I felt his touch on my hand. And Lorraine put her arms round me and kissed me and said, “Now, you sweet child, run up-stairs and look at the moonlight and dream--and dream--and dream.” I don't know whether I slept that night; but, if I did, I did not dream. The next forenoon I waited until eleven o'clock before I went home. I wanted to be sure Aunt Elizabeth was safely away at Whitman. Yet, after all, I did not dread her now. I had been told what to do. Some one was telling me of a song the other day, “Command me, dear.” I had been commanded to stop thinking of all those things I hated. I had done it. Mother met me at the steps. She seemed a little anxious, but when she had put her hand on my shoulder and really looked at me she smiled the way I love to see her smile. “That's a good girl!” said she. Then she added, quickly, as if she thought I might not like it and ought to know at once, “Aunt Elizabeth saw Dr. Denbigh going by to Whitman, and she asked him to take her over.” “Did she?” said I. “Oh, mother, the old white rose is out!” “There they are, back again,” said mother. “He's leaving her at the gate.” Well, we both waited for Aunt Elizabeth to come up the path. I picked the first white rose and made mother smell it, and when I had smelled it myself I began to sing under my breath, “Come into the garden, Maud,” because I remembered last night. “Hush, child,” said mother, quickly. “Elizabeth, you are tired. Come right in.”