water of the pretty placid lake. I don't like to recall it. Some one
passed by me, gave an exclamation of surprise, and came back hastily. It
was Richard. He seemed so glad, and so relieved to see me--and to me it
was like Heaven opening; notwithstanding my vindictive thoughts about
him, I could have sprung into his arms; I felt protected, safe, the
moment he was by me. I tried to speak, and then began to cry.

"I've been looking for you these last two hours," he said, sitting down
beside me. "I came up-town to see you, and found you had gone out. I
thought you would not be likely to go anywhere but to see Sister
Madeline, and there the servant told me you had come this way. I could
not find you here, and went back to Varick-street, then was frightened
at hearing you had not come back, and returned again to look for you.
What made you stay so long? Something has happened. Tell me what you are
crying for."

I had no talent for acting, and not much discretion when I was excited;
and he found out very soon that I knew what had befallen me. (I think he
believed that Sophie had told me of it.)

"Were you very much surprised?" he said. "Had you supposed that you
would be his heiress?"

"Why, no. I had not thought anything about it. I am afraid I have not
thought much about anything this winter. I must have been very
ungrateful, as well as childish, for I never have felt as if it were
fortunate that I had a home, and as much money as I wanted. I did not
care anything about being rich, you know--ever."

"No, I know you did not. I was sure you would have been satisfied with a
very moderate provision."

"Oh, Richard," I cried, clasping my hands together, "if he had left me a
little--just a little--just a few hundred dollars, when he had so much,
to have kept me from having to work, when I don't know how to work, and
am such a child."

"Work!" he exclaimed, looking down at me as if I were something so
exquisite and so precious, that the very thought was profanation.
"Work! no, Pauline, you shall not have to work."

"But what can I do?" I said, "I have nothing--and you know it; not a
shelter; not the money to pay for my breakfast to-morrow morning. Not a
person to whom I have a right to go for help; not a human being who is
bound to care for me. Oh, I don't care what becomes of me; I wish that
it were time for me to die."

Richard got up, and paced up and down the little platform with an
absorbed look.

"It was so str