Miss Gastonguay laid her hand kindly on her shoulder. "My dear, I shall not be much longer with you. When I am gone, go where you like. While I live, let Rossignol be your abiding-place. When we were last in Paris, I looked one day at the crowds surging through the streets, and a great fright came over me. Who among all that horde of strangers would care if I were to drop dead? Here in my own State would be some to say, 'So Jane Gastonguay has gone. I am sorry to hear it.' Later on, you, too, may feel this love of country. I have misgivings about you. I have not trained you aright, but I have got to leave it all. You have been patient with an old woman's whims. Think kindly of me when I am gone, and, if you wish, go now for a few days to visit some of your friends."
"I do not wish it," said Chelda, in a dry, hard voice, and turning her head away.
Tears were streaming down her cheeks. "You will not regret your devotion," said Miss Gastonguay, softly, and leaving her she continued her walk in the direction of the stable.
The coachman was just locking up for the night, only leaving open the pony's private door.
"Jones," said Miss Gastonguay, "tell McTavish to bring up the steam yacht from the town and keep her at my wharf. I may want a trip at any hour of the day or night. Let Stevens stay with him."
"All right, ma'am," replied the man, touching his cap. Then he ventured a question. "I'm afraid you don't feel as spry as you might?"
"No, Jones, I don't."
"It makes me feel bad myself, ma'am, to hear it," he replied, with so much feeling that she turned abruptly away.
"Somethin's gnawing at her," he continued, uneasily, "and she's freakish. She ain't been in that little puffer all summer, and now she wants it handy all the time. Folks that has things don't enjoy 'em, and those that hasn't 'em would. It's a queer world."