s just going to open the door, when Josie Manning's
pleasant voice was heard at the foot of the stair: "Is any one at home?
May I come up?"

"Oh, no," shuddered Dorothy.

"Yes, yes," urged Mr. Reed. "Let your friend see you, my girl. Her
cheerfulness will help you to forget this rascally, cruel letter. There,
good-by for the present," and, kissing her, Mr. Reed left the room.

Josie's bright face soon appeared at the door.

"Well, I declare!" she exclaimed. "Are you rehearsing for a charade,
Miss Reed? And who are you in your long white train--Lady Angelica, or
Donna Isabella, or who?"

"I don't know who I am!" sobbed poor Dorothy, throwing herself upon the
bed and hiding her face in the pillows.

"Why, what _is_ the matter? Are you ill? Have you heard bad news? Oh, I
forget," continued Josie, as Dorry made no reply; "what a goose I must
be! Of course you are miserable without Don, you darling! But I've come
to bring good news, my lady--to me, at least--so cheer up. Do you know
something? Mamma and Papa are going to start for San Francisco on
Wednesday. They gave me my choice--to go with them or to stay with you,
and I decided to stay. So they and your uncle settled it late last night
that I am to be here with you till they come back--two whole months,
Dot! Isn't that nice?"

"Ever so nice!" said Dorry, without lifting her head. "I am really glad,
Jo; but my head aches, and I feel dreadfully this morning."

"Have you had any breakfast?" asked the practical Josie, much puzzled.

"N-no," sobbed Dorry.

"Well, no wonder you feel badly. Look at this cold coffee, and that
mountain of toast, and not a thing touched. I declare, if I don't go
right down and tell Liddy. We'll get you up a good hot breakfast, and
you can doze quietly till we come."

Dorry felt a gentle arm round her for an instant, and a warm cheek
pressed to hers, and then she was alone--alone with her thoughts of that
dreadful letter.

It was from Eben Slade, and it contained all that he had told Donald
on that day at Vanbogen's, and a great deal more. He had kept quiet long
enough, he added, and now he wished her to understand that, as her
uncle, he had some claim upon her; that her real name was Delia
Robertson; she was no more Dorothy Reed than he was; and that she must
not tell a living soul a word about this letter, or it would make
trouble. If she had any spirit or any sense of justice, he urged, she
would manage for him to see her some day