In the garden, whose shell-strewn paths she now trod, she had played as a child; that window belonged to the room where her mother had died.

And then, coming home was in itself a joy, when she had so much to tell that was pleasant.
The dog leaped along by her side with vehement affection, jumping round her and on her, and she heard the starling's cry, first "Olympias!" and then "My strength!" A happy smile parted her rosy lips as she glanced at the work-room; but the two white teeth which always gleamed when she was gay were presently hidden, for her father, it would seem, was out.

He was certainly not at work, for the wide window was unscreened, and it was now nearly noon.
He was almost always within at this hour, and it would spoil half her gladness not to find him there.
But what was this?
What could this mean?
The dog had announced her approach, and old Dido's gray head peeped out of the house-door, to vanish again at once.

How strangely she had looked at her--exactly as she had looked that day when the physician had told the faithful creature that her mistress's last hour was at hand! Melissa's contentment was gone.

Before she even crossed the threshold, where the friendly word "Rejoice" greeted her in brown mosaic, she called the old woman by name.