you for a little while, if you wish."

Dorothy never remembered in what words she thanked her, and she was even
too confused to keep the thread of the conversation, but was conscious
that she was replying at random. Yet the kind old lady did not seem to
notice her confusion.

"I want some one for a companion," said the lady, slowly. "I have
recently lost my niece, Miss Barbara Hallenbeck, and her death preys
heavily upon my mind."

Dorothy was shocked at the news, but she could utter no comment.

"I am soon to lose my son," went on Mrs. Garner, slowly.

Dorothy sprang to her feet with a gasping cry:

"Jack dying!"

Poor, dear, faithful Jack Garner, who had loved her so well! It seemed
to Dorothy that every pulse in her body quivered, and her heart was
almost bursting at the news.

In that one hour the girl's heart was revealed to her.

She was face to face with the truth at last: she loved Jack Garner--yes,
she loved Jack!

In that moment of time the past seemed to glide before her mental vision
like a vast panorama.

She turned with a gesture of woe pitiful to behold to his dear old
mother.

"You are about to lose your only son?" she gasped. "May Heaven pity
you!" She was almost about to add: "If I could save his life by giving
my own, oh, how gladly I would do it!"

Mrs. Garner saw the look on her face, and rightly interpreted it.

"Do not misunderstand me," she added, hastily. "I do not mean that I am
to lose him by death. My son is soon to be married."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

For a moment the room seemed to whirl around Dorothy. The words seemed
to strike into her very brain as they fell from Mrs. Garner's lips. "My
son is soon to be married!" and the four walls seemed to repeat and
re-echo them.

"I shall lose a son, but I shall gain a dear daughter," added the old
lady, softly.

For an instant, as Dorothy sat trembling there, the impulse was strong
upon her to fly from the house. The very air seemed to stifle her.

While she hesitated, fate settled the matter for her. The front door was
opened by some one who had a latch-key, and a voice that thrilled every
fiber of her being addressed some question to a servant passing through
the corridor.

"Here is my son coming at last!" exclaimed the old lady, in pleased
eagerness.

"Jack--Jack, my dear!" she called; "I am in the drawing-room. Step in a
moment, my son;" and before Dorothy could collect her scattered senses
the _portieres_ were