"Yes, my dear; I knew her years ago, when we were both young girls. She looked then as you do now. I was distantly related to her, in fact. I--I was wealthy in those days, but I have since lost all my money, and am now reduced to penury--ay, to want," murmured the shabbily dressed woman. Bernardine sprung forward excitedly. "Surely you can not be the great Miss Rogers of California, of whom I have heard her speak thousands of times?" "Yes, I am Miss Rogers, my dear; great once, in the eyes of the world, when I had money, but despised now, that I am reduced and in want." In a moment Bernardine's arms were around her, and tears were falling from the girl's beautiful dark eyes. "Oh, do not say that, dear Miss Rogers!" she cried. "_I_ love you because my mother loved you in the days that are past. Money does not always bring love, and the loss of it can not lessen the love of those who owe us allegiance, and who have a true affection for us. Welcome, a thousand times welcome to our home, dear aunt, if you will let me call you that; and--and I shall use my influence to have father invite you to share our humble home forever, if you only will." "No, no, Bernardine," replied Miss Rogers. "You have mouths enough to earn bread for." "One more would not signify," declared Bernardine; "and your presence beneath this roof would amply compensate me. I would take a world of pleasure in working a little harder than I do now to keep you here." "Before you give me too much hope on that point you had better talk it over with your father. He may think differently from what you do. He may not want to keep a tramp's boarding-house," she added, quietly. "Father will be sure to think as I do," reiterated Bernardine. "He has a rough exterior, but the kindest of hearts beats in his rugged bosom." "You are right there, Bernardine," said David Moore, pushing open an inner door and coming forward. "I could not help overhearing all that passed between you two. I am sorry you have lost all your money, Miss Rogers; but that will not make any difference in the heartiness of the welcome we give you; and if Bernardine wants you to stay here with us, stay you shall. So take off your bonnet, and make yourself at home." CHAPTER XIX. "TRUE LOVE NEVER DOES RUN SMOOTH." Miss Rogers was quite overcome by the hearty welcome she received from David Moore, the old basket-maker, and Bernardine, his lovely daughter. It went straight to her lonely heart, because she knew it was genuine friendship untainted by mercenary motives. She shared Bernardine's humble yet dainty apartment, and fell quite naturally into being a member of the household. There was one thing which puzzled her greatly, and that was, the sighs that would rend sweet Bernardine's breast while she was sleeping. "The girl has some secret sorrow which she is hiding from the world," she thought, anxiously. "I must find out what it is."