"But _I_ am not.--Oh, do forgive me, dearest, I feel sure that no kith or kin could have done more for me than you, and I am a truly fortunate girl; for it is not money only that you have given me, but love. It does seem so extraordinary, that I have no belongings, and that all I know of my past is that when I was a tiny child, and a year old, you adopted me and brought me home from India." "That is true," granted her listener. "I must have been over a year old, for I can dimly recall the steamer, and the black faces of the Lascars." "Ho, ho! there you go! black faces! You were nearly two when you landed." "They must have died within a short time of one another," resumed Verona, in a low voice. "What do you mean, child? Who are you talking about?" "My father and mother." "Yes, yes, yes, I have allowed everyone to suppose you were an orphan," continued Madame, staring straight before her in dreamy fashion, "but I have never said so." "Not an orphan!" repeated the girl, sitting erect, and turning quickly to her companion. "Oh, darling auntie, do tell me--it will make no difference to you--is my mother alive?" Her voice shook for an imperceptible moment, and her eyes glowed with expectancy. "Now, what nonsense this is!" cried Madame de Godez peevishly. "What would you give to know?" Verona suddenly averted her eager face, and made no answer. The ensuing silence was so unusually prolonged that at last the old lady jerked her head round, and glanced interrogatively at her companion. To her amazement and dismay she saw two great tears stealing down the girl's face. Verona's tears were more than she could endure. Verona, who rarely wept, even as a child; Verona, who had scarcely grieved for the dog. "Come, come, come, lovey, don't! I cannot bear it. No! since you are so foolish, then I will tell you." The girl turned to her instantly, her eyes were wet, her lips were parted. "Your father and mother are both alive--in India--and well, for all I know--there now!" For a moment her listener remained silent and motionless; she seemed stunned; twice she endeavoured to articulate, but failed. At last she said: "My father and mother! Oh, thank God! Auntie, isn't it wonderful?" "No-ah! there is nothing wonderful at all," retorted Madame de Godez, "I knew the family. They were hard up, they had debts, and children, and as I was leaving India a widow, alone, I offered to take you to be my own daughter, and never to see them again." "And they agreed?" exclaimed the girl, and her words were faint and tremulous. "Why, of course. It was a fine bargain for them, and you. Oh, you were a pretty child! Just like a little angel on a Christmas card. Now, Verona, I would never have spoken of this, and let you think what you pleased, only--you have worried it out of me!" "Are my people related to you?" she faltered. "Never mind." "Have I any brothers and sisters?"