Her face wore its old childish look of patient pain, reminding him of the time when she stood with the cluster of lilies drooping against her heart. He saw that tears had gathered in her eyes, tendering them larger, more wistful. "I do not know yet. Anywhere that you think best, until we can write and get mother's permission for me to go to her. Will you not please use your influence with her?" "To send you from the shelter of my roof? That would be eminently courteous and hospitable on my part. Besides your mother does not want you." Observing how sharply the words wounded her, he added: "I mean, that at present she prefers to keep you here, because it is best for your own interests; and in all that she does, I believe your future welfare is her chief aim. You understand me, do you not?" "I do not understand why or how it can be best for a poor girl to be separated from her mother, and thrown about the world, burdening strangers. Still, whatever my mother does must be right." "Do you think you burden me?" "I believe, sir, that you are willing for mother's sake to do all you can for me, and I thank you very much; but I must not bring trouble or annoyance into your family. Can't you place me at school? Mrs. Lindsay has a dear friend--the widow of a minister--living in New York, and perhaps she would take me to board in her house? I have a letter to her. Do help me to go away from here." He turned quickly, muttering something that sounded very like a half-smothered oath, and took her little trembling hand, folding it gently between his soft warm palms. "Little girl, be patient; and in time all things will be conquered. As long as I have a home, I intend to keep you, or until your mother sends for you. She trusts me fully, and you must try to do so, even though sometimes I may appear harsh,--possibly unjust. Of course Hero cannot remain here at present, but I will take him down to my office, and have him carefully attended to; and as often as you like you shall come and see him, and take him to ramble with you through the parks. As soon as I can arrange matters, you shall have him with you again." "Please, Mr. Palma! send me to a boarding school; or take me back to the convent." "Never!" He spoke sternly, and his face suddenly hardened, while his fingers tightened over hers like a glove of steel. "I shall never be contented here." "That remains to be seen." "Mrs. Palma does not wish me to reside here." "It is my house, and in future you will find no cause to doubt your welcome." She knew that she might as efficaciously appeal to an iron column, and her features settled into an expression that could never have been called resignation,--that plainly meant hopeless endurance. She attempted twice to withdraw her hand, but his clasp tightened. Bending his haughty head, he asked: "Will you be reasonable?" A heavy sigh broke over her compressed mouth, and she answered in a low, but almost defiant tone: