“Roland, my dear, is alive and well, but he does not know where you are any more than Le does. We must find Le and let him know that we are here,” said Mr. Force. Then, with a total change of manner, he began: “Come here, Odalite, my dear, and sit beside me. I have such good news for you as shall give you patience to wait for Le, if he does not come here for a week. But such news that, if he knew it, would bring him within an hour!” Full of vague expectancy, Odalite came and threw herself down on the sofa beside her father, and looked up into his eyes. “My dear Odalite, what would be the very best news that you could hear to-day?” he inquired. Odalite gazed into his eyes, too much excited to speak. Fearing, indeed, to speak, lest his next words should disappoint her raised hopes, while Mrs. Force and every occupant of the room, except the earl, waited breathlessly. “Oh, tell me, papa! tell me what you have to tell!” pleaded Odalite. “Tell me, first, what would be the best news you could possibly hear to-day?” persisted Abel Force. His daughter gazed into his face, while her color went and came—came and went; but she did not speak. “Well, Odalite?” he inquired. “Father,” she then answered, gravely, “the best news that I could hear, that any of us could hear to-day, would be that the war was ended, the country at peace, and the North and South friends again.” “A conscientious reply, my dear. That would certainly be the best news that any of us could hear. But it is not the news that I have to tell, my love. Try again. My news is of a private nature, and concerns yourself. What would be the best news that you could hear concerning yourself?” persisted the squire. “That I were free!” The words came in a tone of impassioned aspiration that spoke volumes of the suffering the girl had endured under the incubus that darkened and oppressed her life. “Then, my dear, hear it!” said the squire, earnestly. “Odalite, you are free!” “Father!” The cry came from her soul, and it was echoed by her sisters and her friend. “Abel!” This was from his wife. “Yes, my dears, it is true!” replied the squire. “Odalite is free!” “Anglesea is dead, then? Our terrible enemy is dead!” exclaimed Elfrida Force, with a sigh of infinite relief. “No, my dears, Anglesea is not dead, I thank Heaven! Long may that gallant soldier and true gentleman live to enrich humanity! But your enemy is dead to you, Odalite! You are free, my child! As free as either of your sisters! And you have always been free, my dearest dear, although I did not know it until to-day.” “What is the meaning of all this?” demanded Elfrida Force, in a voice of doubt and pain. “Tell your sister, Enderby. Tell them all—and all about it! I cannot. I am not equal to the task! I should talk like a fool!” said the squire, drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiping his brows. Thus adjured, the earl looked around on the group of eager listeners, and said, addressing Mrs. Force: