iltily; for this was the first real secret
of my life.

"You have not been selling your jewelry, I hope," she said, quite
sternly. "Mr. Winthrop would not easily forgive such an act, after you
had been entrusted with it too."

"I have not sold anything that belonged to anyone but myself."

She looked at me closely, and my eyes fell before her gaze. "It is not
idle curiosity, believe me, Medoline, that makes me so insistent. I wish
you would explain how you got the money. You are unacquainted with the
habits of this country, and may have been unwittingly led into some
indiscretion."

"What I have done is a very common thing in Europe even among the best of
people."

"Do you mean selling your cast-off garments?"

"Why, Mrs. Flaxman, you have as poor an opinion of me as Mr. Winthrop. I
wonder what is the reason my friends have so little confidence in me?" I
said, despairingly.

"But, dear, there is some mystery; and young ladies, outside of tragic
stories, are expected to live lives of crystal clearness."

"I will tell you, for fear you imagine I have done some terrible thing.
When we were in New York, I hunted up a picture-dealer and submitted a
number of my sketches, that I had hidden away in my trunk, to him, and he
consented to act as my agent. For one good sized painting of Oaklands he
has given me fifty dollars. Perhaps that Mr. Bovyer bought it, I have
felt afraid that he did; but any way the money will do good; be the
indirect means of giving sight to one of Christ's own followers. All the
afternoon, like the refrain of some beautiful melody, those words have
been sounding in my ears: 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the
least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me.'" Over my burning
cheeks a few bitter tears were falling, while a mad desire seized me to
leave Oaklands, and the cold, selfish life it imposed, and try in some
purer air to live as conscience urged. I walked to the farthest end of
the long room without waiting for Mrs. Flaxman's reply, and stood looking
out into the bright moonlit air. Far away I could see the moonbeams
dimpling on the waters, making a long, shimmering pathway to the distant
horizon, while in the frosty sky a few bold stars were shining, scarce
dimmed by the moon's brightness. The thought came to me that, in a few
weeks, Mr. Bowen might be thrilled by just such a vision of delight. I
turned abruptly to tell Mrs. Flaxman I could never go back to the old
life of