“Hush!” exclaimed Maurice, and then they heard the rumbling of wheels that stopped suddenly before the door, and the loud pealing of a bell through the house.

“The carriage! the carriage!” cried Nea, and the flush rose to her face as she started to her feet, but Maurice did not answer; he was grasping the table to support himself, and felt as though another moment’s suspense would be intolerable.

“A letter for Mrs. Trafford,” observed the landlady in solemn awe-struck tones, “and a man in livery and the cabman are bringing in some boxes.”

“What boxes?” exclaimed Nea; but as she tore open the letter and glanced over the contents a low cry escaped her.

“Maurice! Maurice!” cried the poor child; and Maurice,  taking it from her, read it once, twice, thrice, growing whiter and whiter with each perusal, and then sunk on a chair, hiding . . . Read More