But these ten years of labour had not quite broken Annie Napier’s spirit. Out of her grief and her tears—for she was a woman, and could not help still loving the lover of her youth—she rose with her old grandeur of manner, and refused the offer. Not theatrically, nor angrily, but simply and definitely, so that the messenger from England, perplexed and astonished, could only beg of her to think, not of herself, but of her daughter. "My daughter," she said, perhaps rather bitterly, "will never seek, any more than myself, to go amongst those people. God knows that it is she alone whom I consider in everything I do. I have taught her to earn her own bread; and I will teach her that her only chance of happiness is to marry, if she does marry, in her own profession. You appear to be surprised, sir; but what I say to you is not the result of any hasty impulse. Have you seen her?" she added, with a touch of pride. "Have you seen her since you came over? Some years hence you may find her in England, and she will reap my old triumphs again." "If you will only consider what you are taking from her—the position she would hold—the——" For an instant the large dark eyes of the actress were filled with a strange, wistful look; was she striving—as we often do strive—to anticipate the current of years, and look over the long future lying in wait for this girl of hers? "I have considered, sir, many a year ago. She has been brought up in perfect ignorance of her birth and name; and there is no one of her associates who knows our secret. So she will remain." This unlooked-for termination to his mission so astounded the lawyer, that he could not at first comprehend the decision of her tone. "You will understand, madam," he said, "that professionally I have no resource but to return to England with your message. But may I not beg you to reflect? Is it not possible that you have been moved to this decision by a—what shall I say?—a view of things which may appear natural to you in your professional life, but which is looked upon otherwise by the outside world?——" "You think I am led astray by theatrical notions of life?" she said, with a smile. "It was my experience of your ’outside world’ which made me resolve that my girl should never suffer that which I have suffered. The resolution is a very old one, sir. But supposing that I should die, would she then have this property—would it belong to her?" "Undoubtedly, if she chooses to accept it." After a few moments’ silence, the prudent and tender mother having calculated every possibility which might affect her daughter’s happiness, she said to him: "In that case, sir, I can always provide against her suffering want. I will give her to-day your address in England, and tell her that if at any future time I am taken from her, and if she should ever be in need, she can go to you; and then, sir, you will remember who Annie Brunel is."