to the very depths of her pockets, she drew forth a letter: "You know," said she, "my master's hand-writing." Eda took the letter; she read the few first lines; she could read no more. The room swam round with her. The faces grew indistinct, and, staggering like one who has received a violent blow, she rose from her seat—she stood for a moment as if she knew not what she was doing,—when the voice of Mrs. Whyte recalled her to herself. Making a strong effort to command her feelings, she exclaimed, in a low broken voice, "Take care of the children," and hurried to her own chamber. Partly to divert their attention from the absence of their nurse, but still more because she found it impossible to keep her knowledge to herself—the housekeeper began to communicate the important fact that they were going to have a mamma.
"Mamma!" cried the twins in the same breath, springing from the table, "Is mamma coming back to us?" The colour glowing in their cheeks and the large tears in their eyes—
