istmas," he says glancing at the postmark, a shade of reproach
in his tone. "And you never told me!"

"I never told you, squire. It ain't a pleasant sort of thing to talk
about, least of all to you. She doesn't deserve a thought from you, Mr.
Gilbert--"

The lawyer stopped him with a gesture.

"I have forgiven her long ago," he answers; "she did not care for me.
Better she should fly from me before marriage than after. Thank Heaven
she is alive to write at all."

He opens the note. It is very short.

"Dear Aunt Hetty--Dear Uncle Reuben--Dear Uncle Joe--if you will let me,
unworthy as I am, still call you by the dear old names. This is the
third time I have written since I left home, but I have reason to think
you never received the first two letters. I wrote then, as I write now,
to beg you on my knees for forgiveness. Oh, to see your dear faces once
more--to look again on the peaceful old home. But it cannot be. What
shall I say of myself? I am well--I am busy--I am as happy as I deserve,
or can ever expect to be. I am safely sheltered in a good man's house. I
have been to blame, but oh, not so much as you think. Some day I will
come to you and tell you all. Yours,

"NORINE.

"P. S.--_He_ is well. I have seen him since I came to New York twice,
though he has not seen me. May the good God bless him and forgive me.

"N. K. B."

Richard Gilbert read that postscript and turned away his head. He had
been near her, then, twice, and had never known it. And she cared for
him enough to pray for him still.

"Here's the other," said Reuben Kent; "that came a week ago."

He laid a large, foreign-looking letter on the desk, with many stamps,
and an Italian postmark.

"From Florence," the lawyer said; "how can she have got there?"

It was as short as the first.

"She was well. Foreign travel had done wonders for her health and
spirits. She was with kind friends. Impossible to say when she would
return, but always, whether at home or abroad, she was their loving
niece, NORINE BOURDON."

That was all. Very gravely the lawyer handed them back.

"Well, squire," Mr. Kent said, "what do you think?"

"That I am unutterably glad, and thankful to know she is alive and well,
and with friends who are good to her. It might have been worse--it might
have been worse."

"You believe these letters, then?"