Although the hot, strong tea was very grateful in her exhausted condition, this, with the very excitements of the day, kept Miss Featherstone awake the brief remainder of the night.  She breakfasted the following morning with the children and their tutor.  To her great surprise, little Harry, looking pale and wan, was at the table.

“Madame is too ill to rise,” Mr. Brown announced in his very best English, “and the bonne is attending her.  Will this dear mees take the head of the table and us oblige by pouring out the coffee?”

Miss Featherstone cheerfully acceded, and left her own breakfast cooling while she coaxed and consoled the little invalid, who was quite fretful after his last night’s experiences.  She was making an attempt to eat something herself when Mrs. Pinckney sent for her, and, as there was no one to take care of the child, she carried him in her arms to his mother’s room.

“Good-morning, Miss Featherstone;” and she devoured the curly-headed boy with kisses.  Mrs. Pinckney, reclining on large pillows, looked prettier than ever.  No degree of negligence affected her appearance:  her light, curling, slightly-dishevelled hair and delicate, clear skin were the more attractive under conditions which would be fatal to many women.  “Sit down, Miss Featherstone.—­Adele!” calling to the nurse, “you must take dear little Harry away:  I want to talk to Miss Featherstone.  Be very careful of him:  don’t let him eat or over-fatigue himself.  And, Adele, after lunch come and help me dress:  I think I should feel better for a drive.—­Don’t you think I should feel better for a drive, Miss Featherstone?  I’m in miserable health,” she added as the door closed on the nurse and child, “I’ve had so much trouble.  I’ve lost my husband—­he died of consumption”—­she seized her pocket-handkerchief and began to cry:  “I was alone, except for servants, with him at St. Augustine.  I think his family were very inconsiderate.  I wrote letter after letter, telling them of his condition and begging and imploring them to come to my assistance; but no one came.  I had just left him for a few hours to get a little rest—­I was so worn out with anxiety and the responsibility—­and he died—­alone—­with his nurse—­” Sobs choked her voice.

Miss Featherstone rose and kissed her:  it was a way she had of comforting.  Mrs. Pinckney received the caress graciously, and pressed her hand.

“Then my income is not nearly so large as it was,” she resumed, “and I’m obliged to practise a great deal of economy.  I’ve discharged my maid, and share the children’s nurse with them, and Adele is growing quite discontented with double duty.  I parted with Baptiste also:  it was a frightful sacrifice, for he was just a perfect butler.  I’m always having economy talked at me by my husband’s family, and I hate it!” with a discontented sigh.  “I had a house in New York,” she continued, “which they urged me to give up.  They said I couldn’t