“You don’t mean that!” she cried, “if I thought you meant that, I—­I—­ah, why do you tease me?” she added, as Graham could not help laughing, “you know you promised me I should go with you everywhere.  I am very strong, I love travelling, I want to see the world.  Where will you go?  To America again?  I will adopt the customs and manners of any country; I will dress in furs with a seal-skin cap, and eat blubber like an Esquimau, or turn myself into an Indian squaw; would you like to have me for a squaw, Monsieur Horace?  I would lean all their duties; I believe they carry their husband’s game, and never speak till they are spoken to.  My ideas are very vague.  But I would learn—­ah, yes, I could learn anything.”

Mrs. Treherne was still sitting, thinking her sad thoughts when she felt an arm passed round her neck, and turning round, saw Madelon kneeling at her side.  “Horace has gone out,” she said; “we have been talking over our plans, Aunt Barbara; we have settled quite now that we will first go to Liege and Le Trooz, and see Jeanne-Marie, and then go on to the south.  It is good of Monsieur Horace to go to Liege, for it is all to please me, and it is quite out of his way.”

“And you go on to L——­ afterwards?  You will be glad to find yourself abroad again, Madeleine.”

“Yes,” she said, hesitating; “but I shall be sorry to leave you, Aunt Barbara.”

“Will you, my dear?  I am afraid, Madeleine, that I have not made you very happy, though I have only found it out in these last few weeks.”

“Aunt Barbara, how can you say such a thing?” cried Madelon.  “What have you not done for me?  Why, I could never, never thank you for it all; it is for that—­because it is so much—­ that I cannot say more.  One cannot use the same words that one does for ordinary things.”

“I know, my dear,” said Mrs. Treherne, smoothing the girl’s hair, “but nevertheless I have not made you happy, and I now know the reason why.  Yes, I have been talking to Horace, and I understand your feeling; and if it were all to come again, perhaps I might act differently; but it is too late now, and it matters little, since you are happy at last.”

“Aunt Barbara, I have been happy——­”

“You see, Madeleine, your mother was my very dearest friend; all your love has been for your father, and that is only natural; but some day, perhaps, you will understand what a mother might have been to you, and then, my dear, you will care for me also a little, knowing how dearly I loved yours.”

“I know,” said Madelon, “and I do love you, Aunt Barbara, but I must always care for papa most of all.”

“I know, my dear; it is only natural, and from what Horace tells me, he must have deserved your love.”  And with those words, Mrs. Treherne in some sort forgave the man who had been the one hatred of her life, and won the heart of the girl beside her.

“Aunt Barbara,” she cried again, “I do love you.”  And this time Mrs. Treherne believed her.