sister.

While we leave them speeding onward, toward the place which was to be
the scene of a pitiful tragedy, we must draw back the curtain which has
veiled the past, and learn what has become of beautiful, hapless
Bernardine.

After her desertion by the young husband whom she had but just wedded,
and the theft of the money which he had placed in her hands, she lay
tossing in the ravages of brain fever for many weeks in the home to
which the kind-hearted policeman had escorted her.

But her youth, health, and strength at last gained the victory, and one
day, in the late summer, the doctor in charge pronounced her well,
entirely cured, but very weak.

As soon as she was able to leave her bed, Bernardine sent for the
matron.

"You have all been very kind to me," she said, tears shining in her dark
eyes. "You have saved my life; but perhaps it would have been better if
you had let me die."

"No, no, my dear; you must not say that," responded the good woman,
quickly. "The Lord intends you to do much good on earth yet. When you
are a little stronger, we will talk about your future."

"I am strong enough to talk about it now," replied Bernardine. "You know
I am poor, and the only way by which a poor girl can live is by
working."

"I anticipated what you would say, my dear, and I have been making
inquiries. Of course, I did not know exactly what you were fitted for,
but I supposed you would like to be a companion to some nice lady,
governess to little children, or something like that."

"I should be thankful to take anything that offers itself," said
Bernardine.

"It is our principal mission to find work for young girls who seek the
shelter of this roof," went on the matron, kindly. "The wealthy ladies
who keep this home up are very enthusiastic over that part of it. Every
week they send us lists of ladies wanting some one in some capacity. I
have now several letters from a wealthy woman residing at Lee,
Massachusetts. She wants a companion; some one who will be willing to
stay in a grand, gloomy old house, content with the duties allotted to
her."

Bernardine's face fell; there was a look of disappointment in her dark
eyes.

"I had hoped to get something to do in the city," she faltered.

"Work is exceedingly hard to obtain in New York just now, my dear
child," replied the good woman. "There are thousands of young girls
looking for situations who are actually starving. A chance like this
occurs only once i