ver repent it, that I swear. See here!
this is what I mean to do for you. Sit down once more."

She obeyed, looking at him in wonder and doubt.

"Helen Holmes lives with Hugh Darcy. She is as dear as a daughter to
him. He is one of those old, world-worn men who love to have youth and
beauty about them. She reads for him his newspaper and books of poetry
and romance; he is as fond of verse and fiction as a girl in her teens.
She plays the piano and sings for him--he has a passion for music. Now,
can you play and sing?"

"Yes."

"Then here is my plan. He is soon to lose Miss Holmes, and some one like
her in her place he must have--that he told me himself. A young girl to
read aloud his pet books, to play in the long winter evenings his pet
music, to sing his favorite songs, to read and write his letters--to
brighten the dull old house generally by her presence--to look pretty
and fair and sweet always; that is what he wants. Salary is no object
with him. You will have a happy home, light and pleasant work, plenty of
money. Will you take it?"

"But--"

"You will suit him exactly. You are young enough, in all
conscience--pretty enough, if you will pardon my saying so, to brighten
even a duller house than that. You play, you sing, you can read aloud.
What more do you want? You need a home. There is a home. And"--a long
pause--"who can tell what may come of it?"

She was looking up, he was looking down. Their eyes met. In the darkness
they could yet look at each other long and steadily for a moment. Then
hers fell.

"How old is Mr. Darcy?" she asked in a subdued voice.

"He is seventy-eight, old, feeble, and easily worked upon. I say
again--who knows what may come of it? To be disinherited is the only
thing in heaven or earth Laurence Thorndyke is afraid of. And old men of
eighty, with stubborn minds and strong resentments, do sometimes make
such strange wills."

Again there was a pause. Then Norine Bourdon spoke firmly.

"I will go with you to New York."

He drew a long breath of relief.

"I thought you would. You will not repent it, Mrs. Laurence. By-the-by,
would you mind leaving that name behind you?"

She looked at him inquiringly.

"You will accompany me to New York as my niece, Jane Liston. I have a
niece of that name, a widow, out in Oregon. As my niece, Mrs. Jane
Liston, from the country, looking for work in the city, I will introduce
you to my landlady, a most respectable woman. As my niece, Jane