ed, "but it can
never be. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind
intentions, but it can never be. Heaven did not wish me to be a favorite
of fortune. There are those who are born to work for a living. I am one
of them. I have no place in the homes of aristocrats. One fell in love
with me, but he soon tired of me and deserted me."

"He will be glad enough to seek you again when you are known as my
heiress," declared Miss Rogers, patting softly the bowed, dark curly
head.

"No, no!" cried Bernardine; "if a man can not love you when you are
poor, friendless and homeless, he can not love you with all the
trappings of wealth about you. I say again, I thank you with all my
heart and soul for what you are disposed to do for me; but I can not
accept it at your hands, dear friend. Build churches, schools for little
ones, homes for the aged and helpless, institutions for the blind,
hospitals for those stricken low by the dread rod of disease. I am young
and strong. I can earn my bread for many a long year yet. Work is the
only panacea to keep me from thinking, thinking, thinking."

"Nay, nay," replied Miss Rogers; "let me be a judge of that. I know
best, my dear. It will be a happiness to me in my declining years to
have you do as I desire. The money will all go to you, and at the last
you may divide it as you see fit. Do not refuse me, my child. I have set
my heart upon seeing you the center of an admiring throng, to see you
robed in shining satin and magnificent diamonds. I will not say more
upon the subject just now; we will discuss it--to-morrow. I shall go
down and join the feasters and revelers; my heart is happy now that I
have found you, Bernardine. Early to-morrow morning we will let Mrs.
Gardiner and her daughter Margaret into our secret, and they will make
no objection to my taking you quietly away with me--at once. Do not let
what I have told you keep you awake to-night, child. I should feel sorry
to see you look pale and haggard to-morrow, instead of bright and
cheerful."

With a kiss, she left Bernardine, and the girl stood looking after her
long afterward, wondering if what she had just passed through was not a
dream from which she would awaken presently.

The air of the room seemed to stifle Bernardine. Rising slowly, she made
her way through one of the long French windows out into the grounds, and
took a path which led in the direction of the brook around which the
alders grew so thickly.