"Bigelow, madam. Frank Bigelow." The unimagined value of a middle name suddenly presented itself to the young man's mind, and his conscience slipped behind the camellias and made no protest. A very irreligious baby, black in the face from howling, had been indeed baptized Francis Bigelow in King's Chapel, twenty-nine years ago--and had since bought a mortgage on the Benson property. "Couldn't you take me? It's a case of charity," he pleaded, turning to the girl beside him. "It's so noisy at the hotel, I can't sleep." This last shot went straight to the mark. Sympathy and need are powerful partners, and they worked together for Ellesworth's case in the hearts of the two poor, lonely women. It is only in the South that one can find women--ladies, and who dress like ladies, and who hardly have ten dollars in cash the year round. The mystery of the maintenance of their existence is not solved outside the walls of their own homes. Proud, refined and shy, they divulge nothing. Who is a boarder that he should think to comprehend the pathetic ingenuity of their eventless lives? "Are you connected with the Bigelows of Charleston?" asked Mrs. McCorkle, softly. "I think we must be another branch," replied Ellesworth, boldly. "I will--I would pay you," added Ellesworth, blushing, "just what they would charge me at the Sunshine Hotel, if that would be satisfactory." "How much is that, Mr. Bigelow?" inquired Mrs. McCorkle, reddening too. "Twenty-five dollars a week." "That is too much. We should think that enough for a month," said the girl, turning her wonderful face upon her visitor. "I could not think of giving less," he insisted. Still he did not look at her. "Perhaps," admitted Mrs. McCorkle with a sigh, "we might take you, sir, seeing that you are one of the Bigelow family--on trial." "I will come," returned Ellesworth, quickly, looking straight at Georgiella, "I will come next Monday--on trial. "You won't look upon me as a sheriff, will you?" he added, as he mounted at the gate, to ride back to his hotel. The girl shook her head, as he looked down at her quizzically. "That was very stupid of me. My mind has been full of my trouble. I have dreamed about it, and hate the man who holds that mortgage. "Please do not think of it any more. And when you come, sir, perhaps you can advise us what to do." Ellesworth looked at her gravely. What would the following week, and the next, and the winter bring forth? "Perhaps," he said in a whisper that might have come from the Delphian oracle; and then he cantered away. For the first time since her father's death, Georgiella sang that afternoon as she walked about the garden teasing her plants to bloom. * * * * *