She believes the tale that Lavinia has so often told, and almost envied Helen Thornly the daily companionship of such a spirit as the one that had forgotten her. "But I may cherish these dear mementoes yet," sighed Madeline; "they speak of such holy, blessed things, that even the sight of them refreshes me." Placing them reverently in her desk, she commits herself to God's keeping, and retires to her rest. The world was fast losing its hold upon Madeline; the power of early teaching was returning. "Papa, shall we go home early in the season?" said Madeline; "I long for Woodcliff." "Just as soon as you please, daughter; are you getting tired of the gayeties of New York?" "I am sick of them, papa; I would rather spend one month at Woodcliff now, where I could ramble by the old sea-shore, sail in my own boat on the clear lake, or ride dear old Selim up and down the lanes, as I used to when a child." Her father smiled, for he longed for the elegant retirement of his own home; but Aunt Matilda remonstrated. "Surely, brother, you will not allow Madeline to be so foolish; she might, at least, spend the whole season here." "She may do just as she pleases, Matilda," was the answer; "I am glad that she retains her love of domestic life, after all the gayety of this winter." Aunt Matilda sought Mr. Hamilton's private ear. "I hope that you will not listen to Madeline's folly, brother, after going to so much expense in bringing her out, and when so many of the very first in the land are ready to lay their fortunes at her feet, here you are marring her prospects for a mere whim." "Really, Matilda, I did not bring Madeline to market, I am not so anxious to be rid of my daughter, and if she is more happy in domestic life than in the gay world, I am only too glad to encourage the feeling. She has seen just what the world is, and has sense enough to understand its hollowness." * * * * * * * * Roland is rising rapidly in his profession, still interested in his "Home for the News-boys," and esteemed by his kind and generous patron. "Do you know, papa," said Helen, one day, "that Madeline is going home; here in the very midst of all her triumphs, she is longing for Woodcliff--so she says, but she always was a strange girl; I don't know what to think of her." Roland felt a thrill of joy pass through his heart at this intelligence, for it seemed to say that Madeline was not spoiled by the gay world. How he longed to see her, and his wish was speedily gratified. A carriage stopped at Mr. Thornly's door, which he recognized at once as Mr. Hamilton's--in the next minute, Madeline stepped out, and sent the carriage away. It was not a mere call, then, and he hoped to see her, ere she left New York. She had come to spend a social evening with Helen, and Roland having the free entrance to the drawing-room at all times, sought his young friend. "You are going to leave us, Miss Madeline," was his first salutation.