Thus effectually silenced, Mrs. Redmond waited for Martine to read her letter.

"You ought to like Mrs. Blair," said Amy, for Martine still held the opened envelope in her hand without attempting to read its contents.

"Why?"

"Because she has style, Martine, and you generally put that before everything else; but read your letter, I would like to hear where they are, for I am always interested in Edith's doings."

"Yes, yes," yet Martine did not take the letter from the envelope; "but people need something besides style. I get so out of patience with Mrs.

Blair when she and mamma are together. She always has the air of disapproving of mamma for having married a western man. She makes me think of the New Yorker who said to a Chicago woman, 'How can you bear to live so far away?' 'Away? From what?' asked the other. And the New Yorker couldn't say a word."

"But that isn't like Mrs. Blair, for she always has a word ready for everything. Do read your letter, Martine," continued Amy.

So Martine glanced hastily over the pages, making comments as she read.

"Oh, it's a kind of duty letter. She wants me to think it a great privilege that you have allowed me to travel with you this summer. She seems to have an especially high regard for you, Priscilla. I won't flatter you by reading what she says. Oh, yes, and she wants to give me some bad news. She has seen mamma at Carlsbad and thinks her looking very miserable. Well, that's about all, except that she wishes Edith cared more for Europe."

"Yes," interposed Amy, "Edith was very anxious to go West this summer with Philip and Pamela; they're having a fine trip over the Canadian Rockies."

Martine evidently was not listening to Amy. Her face wore an expression of great bewilderment, and then, with an exclamation of surprise she thrust the letter into Amy's hand:

"Read it," she cried; "isn't it extraordinary?" and she pointed to the signature. "'Audrey Balfour Blair!' Did you know that was her name?"

"Why, I'm not sure," responded Amy. "I never had a letter from Mrs.

Blair."

"Nor I," responded Martine, "though Edith often writes to me."

"That's why Balfour and Audrey seem so familiar to me," added Priscilla, whose family were on rather intimate terms with Mrs. Blair.

"I never heard even mamma speak of Mrs. Blair by her first name,"

continued Martine. "Of course I must have known that it was Audrey, but I had never noticed the Balfour before."

"Well, if Balfour is a family name of Mrs. Blair's it must be of your mother's also; or at least it probably is."

"In that case," said Martine, "then Balfour and I may be cousins."

"I wish that Eunice and I were cousins." Priscilla's wistful tone was in contrast to the brighter one in which Martine had spoken.

"What's in a name?" continued the latter. "I dare say it's only the merest happening that these names are alike."

"I was going to suggest," commented Mrs. Redmond, "that it might be wiser not to build your hopes too high, although I'll admit that there may be some connection between the two families."

"What pleases me the most," said Martine, "is to think of Mrs. Blair's disgust when she hears that her family names belong also to people in Nova Scotia."

"And one of them a grocer's clerk," added Amy, whereupon Martine colored deeply.

"Balfour's just as good as Philip Blair, and he won't have to leave college without taking his degree." Then, as if ashamed of her petulance, she added: "To find out how things really are I suppose that after this I'll have to take an interest in genealogy. Mrs. Blair belongs to the Colonial Dames and offered to have mamma's name put through, and I think she would have consented to this if I hadn't laughed so at the idea. I dare say the Dames are different from the Daughters. I hope so at any rate, for the Daughters are always waving their ancestors in one another's faces, especially at their meetings, which I am told are like real battles."

"Oh, no," protested Mrs. Redmond, "not always. I've been at some that were very pleasant."

"Well, before long," concluded Martine, "you'll find me climbing family trees in a way that will make you dizzy; in fact, I feel a little giddy, as the English say, at the very prospect of having--Eunice for a cousin.

Indeed, I believe I'll not sleep a wink to-night in my effort to settle the question."

CHAPTER XX

FIRE AND FLAME

Long after the others had left her Martine sat alone. She was restless and wide-awake, and any one looking at her would have seen that her face was far less cheerful than usual. Her thoughts, indeed, were disturbed, and one or two tears fell as she held her mother's portrait before her and looked earnestly into the deep blue eyes.

The portrait was a miniature, painted in the days when her mother was almost as young in appearance as Martine herself, though in fact she had been married for several years. The young girl especially valued it because she could remember perfectly when her mother had been very like the lady in the picture, and also because this miniature had not been copied. It was too valuable a thing for Martine to carry with her when travelling.

Mrs. Blair's letter, with its mention of her mother's poor health, had stirred her deeply. She had concealed her feelings in the presence of Mrs. Redmond and the girls; or rather, for the moment she had been more impressed by the suggestion that came to her, through Mrs. Blair's signature, of a connection between her family and the Airtons. Now, however, she began to dwell on the significance of the news from Carlsbad, and the conclusion was hard to set aside that her mother's condition was even worse than her father's brief letters had given her to understand. Putting away the miniature with a sigh, she drew the last two letters from the portfolio, reading and re-reading them in a vain effort to decide whether her father had written briefly merely to conceal his feelings.

"It's strange that men always write so little in a letter. Though papa would always rather telegraph than write, still, when he does write, I _do_ think that he might say something. Now if it were mamma, why, she would tell me everything;" and upon this, with the knowledge that it might be long before her mother could write to her, Martine burst into tears. As she tossed the letters aside Martine threw herself on her bed, and then--

How long she had lain there she did not know, although rising with a start, she realized that she had fallen asleep, and almost as quickly she perceived a strong smell of smoke in the room.

Opening her door, she turned toward the ell where Mrs. Redmond and the two girls had their rooms. The smell of smoke was stronger there, and in the darkness some one brushed against her, crying, "The house must be on fire." With a leap Martine reached the top floor where her friends were.

Mrs. Redmond's door opened to her knock, and then she rapped loudly on the door of the room that Amy and Priscilla occupied together.

"Fire, fire!" she called, and in a moment Mrs. Redmond's voice was added to hers.

"Open the door, Amy; don't wait to dress. Come, come, don't you understand? The house is on fire."

"Yes, yes, we are dressing."

"Unlock the door; I can help bring out some of your things."

The hall was thick with smoke. Mrs. Redmond and Martine knew that the fire was near. Amy's voice was heard from the room--or was it Amy?--speaking almost in terror, "I cannot open the door; I have mislaid the key."

"Why did you take it from the lock? Oh, Amy!"

Mrs. Redmond uttered no further reproof now. It was a time for action.

"Martine," she cried, "we must go for help." But Martine made no reply.

Already she was far on her way downstairs. All the people in the house were now evidently aware of the fire. Doors were slamming, and she heard steps and voices ahead of her. In spite of her difficulty in making her way through the thick smoke, Martine soon found herself near the broad front door. Here two or three men were standing.

"Please help me quickly," cried Martine, breathlessly; "my friends are in a room in the wing, and cannot open the door. Come, I will show you."

Leading the way, Martine was soon at Amy's door again. She could see no one, for there were no lights in the hall, but she recognized Mrs.

Redmond's voice.

"I found a pair of large scissors in my valise; perhaps with them the lock can be pried open."

One of the men who had come with Martine was already pounding on the panels of the door to learn where it could most easily be broken in.