while the two friends were still exchanging their first inquiries,
Carey exclaiming, "Now, you naughty Mary, where have you been, and
why didn't you write?"

"I have been in Russia, and I didn't write, because nobody answered,
and I didn't know where anybody was."

"In Russia! I thought you were with a Scottish family, and wrote to
you to the care of some laird with an unearthly name."

"But you knew that they took me abroad."

"And Alice Brown told me that letters sent to the place in Scotland
would find you. I wrote three times, and when you did not answer my
last-—" and Caroline broke off with things unutterable in her face.

"I never had any but the first when you were going to London. I
answered that. Yes, I did! Don't look incredulous. I wrote from
Sorrento."

"That must have miscarried. Where did you address it."

"To the old place, inside a letter to Mrs. Mercer."

"I see! Poor Mrs. Mercer went away ill, and did not live long after,
and I suppose her people never troubled themselves about her letters.
But why did not you get ours."

"Mrs. McIan died at Venice, and the aunts came out, and considering
me too young to go on with the laird and his girls, they fairly made