little hands, didn't they?"

"They certainly did," responded the girl, with a little shudder at the
recollection. "I have a scar still. That was--let me see--why, it was
fifteen years ago!"

"Just before I came to live with Aunt Francesca," said Rose. "You and
your mother went away the same day."

"Yes, we went in the morning," Isabel continued, "and you were to come
in the afternoon. I remember pleading with my mother to let me stay long
enough to see 'Cousin Wose.'"

"Fifteen years!" Madame repeated. "Allison went abroad, then, to study
the violin, and the house has been open only once since. Richard came
back for a Summer, to attend to some business, then returned to Europe.
How the time goes by!"

The letter fell to the floor and Francesca sat dreaming over the
interlude of years. Colonel Kent had been her husband's best friend, and
after the pitiless sword had cleaved her life asunder, had become hers.
At forty the Colonel had married a young and beautiful girl. A year
later Francesca had gone to him with streaming eyes, carrying his new-
born son in her arms, to tell him that his wife was dead.

Drawn together by sorrow, the two had been as dear to each other as
friends may be but seldom are. Though childless herself, Francesca had
some of the gifts of motherhood, and, at every step, she had aided and
counselled the Colonel in regard to his son, who had his mother's eyes
and bore his mother's name. Discerning the boy's talent, long before his