no longer on the lists for matrimony?  Our dear mother does not tell herself that this is the reason, but she is unconsciously actuated by it.  And I have hitherto given way to her wish.  I mean to give way still in a measure; but I am five and twenty, and I will no longer be withheld from some path of usefulness!  I will judge for myself, and when my mission has declared itself, I will not be withheld from it by any scruple that does not approve itself to my reason and conscience.  If it be only a domestic mission—­say the care of Fanny, poor dear helpless Fanny, I would that I knew she was safe,—­I would not despise it, I would throw myself into it, and regard the training her and forming her boys as a most sacred office.  It would not be too homely for me.  But I had far rather become the founder of some establishment that might relieve women from the oppressive task-work thrown on them in all their branches of labour.  Oh, what a worthy ambition!”

“Rachel!” called Grace.  “Come, there’s a letter, a letter from Fanny herself for you.  Make haste, mamma is so nervous till you read it.”

No exhortation was needed to make Rachel hurry to the drawing-room, and tear open the black-edged letter with the Australian stamp.

“All is right, mamma.  She has been very ill, but is fast recovering, and was to sail by the Voluta.  Why, she may be here any day.”

“Any day!  My dear Grace, see that the nurseries are well aired.”

“No, mother, she says her party is too large, and wants us to take a furnished house for her to come into at once—­Myrtlewood if possible.  Is it let, Grace?”

“I think I saw the notice in the window yesterday.”

“Then, I’ll go and see about it at once.”

“But, my dear, you don’t really mean that poor dear Fanny thinks of coming anywhere but to us?” said her mother, anxiously.

“It is very considerate of her,” said Grace, “with so many little children.  You would find them too much for you, dear mother.  It is just like Fanny to have thought of it.  How many are there, Rachel?”

“Oh!  I can’t tell.  They got past my reckoning long ago.  I only know they are all boys, and that this baby is a girl.”

“Baby!  Ah, poor Fanny, I feared that was the reason the did not come sooner.”

“Yes, and she has been very ill; she always is, I believe, but there is very little about it.  Fanny never could write letters; she only just says:  ’I have not been able to attempt a letter sooner, though my dear little girl is five weeks old to-day.  Think of the daughter coming at last, too late for her dear father, who had so wished for one.  She is very healthy, I am thankful to say; and I am now so much better, that the doctor says I may sail next week.  Major Keith has taken our cabins, in the Voluta, and soon after you receive this, I hope to be showing you my dear boys.  They are such good, affectionate fellows; but I am afraid they would be too much for my dear aunt, and our party is so large, so the Major and I both think it will be the best way for you to take a house for me for six months.  I should like Myrtlewood best, if it is to be had.  I have told Conrade all about it, and how pretty it is, and it is so near you that I think there I can be happy as ever I can be again in this world, and have your advice for the dear children.’”