of a village merchant, mistress of an unpretending house in the
little town of Plainton, Maine, and, by strange vicissitudes of fortune,
the possessor of great wealth, she was on her way from Paris to the
scene of that quiet domestic life to which for nearly thirty years she
had been accustomed.

She was alone in the hotel; her friends, Captain Horn and his wife Edna,
who had crossed the ocean with her, had stayed but a few days in New
York and had left early that afternoon for Niagara, and she was here by
herself in the hotel, waiting until the hour should arrive when she
would start on a night train for her home.

Her position was a peculiar one, altogether new to her. She was
absolutely independent,--not only could she do what she pleased, but
there was no one to tell her what it would be well for her to do, wise
for her to do, or unwise. Everything she could possibly want was within
her reach, and there was no reason why she should not have everything
she wanted.

For many months she had been possessed of enormous wealth, but never
until this moment had she felt herself the absolute, untrammelled
possessor of it. Until now Captain Horn, to whom she owed her gold, and
the power it gave her, had been with her or had exercised an influence
over her. Until the time had come when he could avow the possession of
his vast treasures, it had been impossible for her to make known her
share in them, and even after everything had been settled, and they had
all come home together in the finest state-rooms of a great ocean liner,
she had still felt dependent upon the counsels and judgment of her
friends.

But now she was left absolutely free and independent, untrammelled,
uncounselled, alone with her wealth.

She rose and looked out of the window, and, as she gazed upon the crowd
which swept up and down the beautiful avenue, she could not but smile as
she thought that she, a plain New England countrywoman, with her gray
hair brushed back from her brows, with hands a little hardened and
roughened with many a year of household duties, which had been to her as
much a pleasure as a labor, was in all probability richer than most of
the people who sat in the fine carriages or strolled in their
fashionable clothes along the sidewalk.

"If I wanted to do it," she thought, "I could have one of those
carriages with prancing horses and a driver in knee breeches, or I
could buy that house opposite, with its great front steps, its
ba