tears were falling from bernardine's eyes and sobs were trembling on the tender lips, she could restrain her feelings no longer, and, catching up the thin, shriveled-up figure of the dear little old spinster in her arms, she strained her to her heart and wept.
"ah, my dear girl. you are the good angel who took me in and cared for me, believing me to be a pauper.
"and now know the truth, my darling bernardine. i, your distant kinswoman, am very rich, far above your imagination. i have searched for you since that fire, to make you my heiress—heiress to three millions of money. can you realize it?"
bernardine was looking at her with startled eyes, her white lips parted in dismay.
"now you can understand better why i am here as the guest of margaret gardiner and her proud mother? the wealthy miss rogers, of new york, is believed to be a valuable acquisition to any social gathering. i loved your mother, my fair, sweet, gentle cousin. i should love you for her sake, did i not love you for your own."
"you will make the necessary arrangements to leave mrs. gardiner's employ at the earliest moment, my dear, for i wish you to take your place in society at once as my heiress."
but much to miss rogers' surprise, bernardine shook her head sadly.
"oh, do not be angry with me, dear miss rogers," she sobbed, "but it can never be. i thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind intentions, but it can never be. heaven did not wish me to be a favorite of fortune. there are those who are born to work for a living. i am one of them. i have no place in the homes of aristocrats. one fell in love with me, but he soon tired of me and deserted me."
"he will be glad enough to seek you again when you are known as my heiress," declared miss rogers, patting softly the bowed, dark curly head.
"no, no!" cried bernardine; "if a man can not love you when you are poor, friendless and homeless, he can not love you with all the trappings of wealth about you. i say again, i thank you with all my heart and soul for what you are disposed to do for me; but i can not accept it at your hands, dear friend. build churches, schools for little ones, homes for the aged and helpless, institutions for the blind, hospitals for those stricken low by the dread rod of disease. i am young and strong. i can earn my bread for many a long year yet. work is the only panacea to keep me from thinking, thinking, thinking."
"nay, nay," replied miss rogers; "let me be a judge of that. i know best, my dear. it will be a happiness to me in my declining years to have you do as i desire. the money will all go to you, and at the last you may divide it as you see fit. do not refuse me, my child. i have set my heart upon seeing you the center of an admiring throng, to see you robed in shining satin and magnificent diamonds. i will not say more upon the subject just now; we will discuss it—to-morrow. i shall go down and join the feasters and revelers; my heart is happy now that i have found you, bernardine. early to-morrow morning we will let mrs. gardiner and her daughter margaret into our secret, and they will make no objection to my taking you quietly away with me—at once. do not let what i have told you keep you awake to-night, child. i should feel sorry to see you look pale and haggard to-morrow, instead of bright and cheerful."
with a kiss, she left bernardine, and the girl stood looking after her long afterward, wondering if what she had just passed through was not a dream from which she would awaken presently.
the air of the room seemed to stifle bernardine. rising slowly, she made her way through one of the long french windows out into the grounds, and took a path which led in the direction of the brook around which the alders grew so thickly.
she was so preoccupied with her own thoughts, she hardly noticed which way her footsteps tended. all she realized was, that she was walking in the sweet, rose-laden grounds, away—far away—from the revelers, with the free, cool, pure air of heaven blowing across her heated, feverish brow.
"an heiress!" she said the words over and over again to herself, trying to picture to herself what the life of an heiress would be.
if she had been an heiress, living in a luxurious, beautiful home, would jay gardiner have deserted her in that cruel, bitterly cruel, heartless fashion?
she never remembered to have heard or read of the lover of a wealthy heiress deserting her. it was always the lovers of poor girls who dared play such tricks.
how shocked jay gardiner would be when he heard that she was—an heiress!
would he regret the step he had taken? the very thought sent a strange chill through her heart.
the next instant she had recovered herself.
"no, no! there will be no regrets between us now," she sobbed, hiding her white face in her trembling hands. "for he is another's and can never be anything more to me save a bitter-sweet memory. to-night i will give my pent-up grief full vent. then i will bury it deep—deep out of the world's sight, and no one shall ever know that my life has been wrecked over—what might have been."
slowly her trembling hands dropped from her face, and, with bowed head, bernardine went slowly down the path, out of the sound of the dance-music and the laughing voices, down to where the crickets were chirping amid the long grasses, and the wind was moaning among the tall pines and the thick alders.
when she reached the brook she paused. it was very deep at this point—nearly ten feet, she had heard miss margaret say—and the bottom was covered with sharp, jagged rocks. that was what caused the hoarse, deep murmur as the swift-flowing water struck them in its hurried flight toward the sea.
bernardine leaned heavily against one of the tall pines, and gave vent to her grief.
why had god destined one young girl to have youth, beauty, wealth, and love, while the other had known only life's hardships? miss rogers' offer of wealth had come to her too late. it could not buy that which was more to her than everything else in the world put together—jay gardiner's love.
the companionship of beautiful women, the homage of noble men, were as nothing to her. she would go through life with a dull, aching void in her breast. there would always be a longing cry in her heart that would refuse to be stilled. no matter where she went, whom she met, the face of jay gardiner, as she had seen it first—the laughing, dark-blue eyes and the bonny brown curls—would haunt her memory while her life lasted.
"good-bye, my lost love! it is best that you and i should never meet again!" she sobbed.
suddenly she became aware that she was not standing there alone. scarcely ten feet from her she beheld the figure of a man, and she realized that he was regarding her intently.
