ision for certain charities with which he had
been associated in his lifetime, left all his great fortune to her; and
there was, besides, a sealed letter left for her in which he poured out
his heart to her. From it she learned that he had suffered greatly and
had known that he was liable to die at any time. He, however, would not
send for her to come home, for fear of spoiling her holiday.

"I will not say I have not been lonely," he wrote. "For God knows how
lonely I have been since you left. The light went with you and will
return only when you come home. Sometimes I have felt that I could not
endure it and must send for you or go to you; but the first would have
been selfishness and the latter a breach of duty. The times have been
such that I have not felt it right to leave, as so many interests have
been intrusted to me.... It is possible that I may never see your face
again. I have made a will which I hope will please you. It will, at
least, show you that I trust you entirely. I make no restrictions; for I
wish you greater happiness than I fear I have been able to bring you....
In business affairs I suggest that you consult with Norman Wentworth,
who is a man of high integrity and of a conservative mind. Should you
wish advice as to good charities, I can think of no better adviser than
Dr. Templeton. He has long been my friend."

In the first excess of her grief and remorse, Alice Lancaster came home
and threw herself heart and soul into charitable work. As Mr. Lancaster
had suggested, she consulted Dr. Templeton, the old rector of a small
and unfashionable church on a side street. Under his guidance she found
a world as new and as diverse from that in which she had always lived as
another planet would have been.

She found in some places a life where vice was esteemed more honorable
than virtue, because it brought more bread. She found things of which
she had never dreamed: things which appeared incredible after she had
seen them. These things she found within a half-hour's walk of her
sumptuous home; within a few blocks of the avenue and streets where
Wealth and Plenty took their gay pleasure and where riches poured forth
in a riot of splendid extravagance.

She would have turned back, but for the old clergyman's inspiring
courage; she would have poured out her wealth indiscriminately, but for
his wisdom--but for his wisdom and Norman Wentworth's.

"No, my dear," said the old man; "to give lavishly without