eamer, and
Margharita had ever been ready to share his dreams. The blood of kings
was in their veins, to lead him on to great things; and she, Margharita,
his sister, his beloved sister, should be the mistress of his destinies.
Thus they had talked, thus they had dreamed, and now from the other side
of the gulf he looked backward, and saw in his own life, in the place of
those great deeds which he had hoped to accomplish, one black miserable
chasm, and in hers, forgetfulness of her high descent--for she had
married this English merchant's son--and the grave. Ah! it was sad, very
sad!

Her soft breath upon his cheek brought him back to the present. He
looked down into her face with such a wistful fondness that it brought
the tears again into her eyes.

"Your mother, then, married Martin Briscoe?"

"Yes."

"And he----"

"My father, too, is dead," she answered sadly. "I am an orphan."

"Ah! And now you live--with whom do you live, child?" he asked, with
sudden eagerness. "Tell me, are you happy?"

"I am miserable," she cried passionately.

A quiet smile flitted across his face. There was hope. It was well.

"I am miserable. Often I wish that I were dead."

"Tell me all about it, child," he whispered. "I have a right to know."

She sank down upon the floor, and rested her head upon the side of the
chair. In a moment she began.

"I think that I was quite happy when I was a little girl. I do not
remember very much about that time, or about my mother, for she died
when I was six years old. Papa was very good to me, but he was stern and
cold always. I do not think that he ever smiled after mamma died, and he
had money troubles, too. A bank failed, and he lost a great deal; and
then he had a great many shares in a company which failed. I don't
understand much about it, but when he died three years ago nearly
everything he had went to pay people. I had to go and live with my
father's brother, and I hate it. I hate them all--my uncle, my aunt, and
my cousins. They are vulgar, common people. They are in business, and
they are fearfully rich, but their manners are dreadful, and they are
always talking of their money. They have no taste, no art, no
refinement. I was going to leave them, when I heard that you were here.
I was going to be a governess--yes, even earn my own bread--rather than
stay with them any longer. I hated them so, and their life, and
everything to do with them. Oh, uncle, uncle, let me live with you.