LITMIR.BIZ

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rose color. There was a big black satin bow effectively attached somewhere—I can't describe its location, but it had broad streamers that fell gracefully to the floor. The simply cut garment and the soft dull color suited the girl's pale white complexion and dark hair. She was doubtless of an unusual pallor that morning, which made the thick curls clustering round her brow, and the big brown eyes seem even darker than usual.

      It was late in October and a lighted gas log gave a comfortable warmth to the room.

      Miss Pembroke seemed to be quite herself again, though still somewhat dazed, apparently, by what had happened. She showed no inclination to talk, but her manner was quiet and composed as she asked me to be seated. I had no wish to intrude, but I thought there might be other ways in which I could serve her, so I sat down and waited. There was an indescribable something in her manner, or rather in her appearance, that puzzled me.

      I had thought her beautiful before, but in this time of sorrowful emergency there was a mysterious expression on her face that gave her an added charm. She was not pathetic or appealing in effect, but seemed to be possessed of an energy and excitement which she determinedly suppressed. She showed no sign of grief at her uncle's death, but her calmness and self-control were unmistakably the result of a strong will power. Had she been broken-hearted, but for some reason determined that no one should know it, she would have acted this same way; but it also seemed to me that had she felt a secret sense of relief, even almost of gladness, at being released from the old man's tyranny, she must have acted much the same.

      Occasionally her composure was broken by a sudden, quick gesture or an abrupt, impulsive remark.

      "Charlotte," she said suddenly, "why do you stay here? You may as well go to the kitchen and go on with your work."

      The black girl rolled her eyes apprehensively toward Mr. Pembroke's room, as if a superstitious dread made her hesitate.

      "I don't like to go off my myse'f alone, Miss Janet," she said.

      "But you must, Charlotte," said Miss Pembroke nervously, but not unkindly; "you must go and clear away the breakfast things."

      "But yo' haven't had yo' breakfast, Miss Janet, honey."

      "Never mind, Charlotte; I can't eat any breakfast. Clear it all away. I don't want anything."

      I was much impressed with the tense, drawn expression of the speaker's face, and the quick, sharp accents of her voice, as if she had almost reached the limit of her self-control.

      Here Laura interposed: "I'm sure, Miss Pembroke, you would feel better able to meet the day if you would eat something. Charlotte, if you will bring just a cup of coffee and a roll on a tray, I think Miss Pembroke will take some of it."

      "Yas'm," said Charlotte, and, falling, as nearly every one did, into the way of obeying Laura's suggestions, she went away.

      I endeavored to keep up the conversation by casual and unimportant remarks, and Laura ably assisted me, by responding to my observations. But though Miss Pembroke tried to join the conversation, it was impossible for her, and, as I had feared, her tense self-control gave way and she suddenly broke down in a fit of hysterical sobbing.

      Laura tried to soothe her, but had sense enough not to try to stop her crying. She let the nervous and overwrought girl give way to her tears which of themselves brought relief.

      "I didn't love him!" she exclaimed, her voice broken by sobs, "and that's why I feel so bad. I tried to love him, but he wouldn't let me. I honestly tried—don't you believe I did?"

      She grasped Laura's hands as she spoke, and looked into her eyes.

      "Of course I believe it," replied Laura, heartily; "don't think about that now, Miss Pembroke. I'm sure you have nothing to reproach yourself for."

      "Oh, yes, I have. I'm a wicked girl! I ought to have been more patient with Uncle Robert. But he was so old and so cruel. He was my mother's uncle, you know, and he took me on sufferance—because he couldn't help himself—and he never let me forget it. He told me a dozen times a day that I was dependent on him for the bread I ate. And last evening we had a most awful quarrel! One of our very worst. Oh, I can't bear to remember it!"

      "Don't remember it, dear," said Laura, with her arm still around the quivering body of the girl; "don't think of it."

      "Think of it! I can never forget it. You see, he was determined that I should——"

      Apparently Miss Pembroke had been about to make a confidant of Laura, when she suddenly remembered my presence. She straightened up with a start, and seemed to recover not only her poise, but the hauteur which I had so often observed in her demeanor.

      It was a relief to the situation when at that moment Charlotte, the maid, returned with a daintily-appointed breakfast tray.

      It was quite evident that the colored girl adored her young mistress. She hovered about her, arranging the tray on a small table at her side and looked at Miss Pembroke with an air of loving concern.

      "Do try and eat sumpin, Miss Janet, honey; do, now."

      "Thank you, Charlotte," and Miss Pembroke looked kindly at the girl; "I will try."

      With a little nod, she tacitly dismissed the maid, but Charlotte lingered. After a moment of hesitation, she volunteered a suggestion, which was evidently weighing on her mind.

      "Miss Janet, honey," she said, slowly, "ain' yo' gwine send fo' Master George?"

      "George!" exclaimed Janet Pembroke. "Why, how strange I hadn't thought of it! Of course we must send for George. I'll telephone at once. You may go, Charlotte."

      Again Charlotte left the room, and Miss Pembroke turned to Laura to explain.

      "George," she said, "is George Lawrence, my cousin. He is my only relative except—Uncle Robert. He used to live with us, but a few months ago he moved to bachelor apartments farther downtown. If you will excuse me, I will telephone for him."

      The telephone was in a small adjoining room, which was really rather a large alcove off the drawing-room. This was apparently a sort of music-room here, while my corresponding alcove—for the apartment was, of course, a duplicate of our own—I used as my smoking-room.

      I heard Miss Pembroke, in a calm, clear voice, call up her cousin and ask him to come at once. She did not tell him what had happened. Then she hung up the receiver and returned to where we sat.

      "I don't see why I didn't think of George sooner," she said. "I ought to have sent for him the very first thing."

      "You were so dazed," I suggested, "that what would ordinarily be the most natural thing to do did not occur to you."

      "Yes," she said, catching at my suggestion almost eagerly—"yes, that must have been it. I was dazed, wasn't I?"

      "Indeed you were," said Laura soothingly. "You fainted quite away."

      "Oh, yes," returned the girl; "that was when Doctor Masterson told me that Uncle Robert was dead. It was such a shock. I couldn't believe it, you know. Why, I never faint! I'm not that sort."

      "Even so," said Laura, "the sudden shock was quite enough to cause you to faint."

      The girl looked at her almost wistfully. "Yes, it was enough, wasn't it?" she said; "a shock like that would make anybody faint, wouldn't it? I just couldn't believe it. We—we never dreamed he would die suddenly. I wonder what George will say?"

      "Is there any one else that you would like to have notified?" I asked.

      "No," she said. "I have no other relatives at all. Of course we must tell Milly Waring, but I'll wait until after I see George."

      "But aside from relatives, Miss Pembroke," I said, "is there no one else who ought to be notified? Ought you not to advise your uncle's lawyer?"

      I was all unprepared for the effect this casual suggestion had upon the girl. Although she had recovered her composure almost entirely, it now seemed to desert her again. But instead

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