"Oh, that's different!" he replied, vaguely. "I've set my heart on getting her now, and I could never get over it, if I failed. Look here, Cousin Carrie," leaning toward her, his bright, dark eyes full of tender pleading, "help me, won't you? Speak a good word for me to her. I'm not such a bad sort, am I?" wheedlingly. "I would make a nice young girl a good husband, wouldn't I, now?" "Yes, Teddy, I believe you would." "Then help me, won't you? It's not selfish in me, is it, to want to marry this poor girl who has been so strangely despoiled of home and fortune, and make up to her for all her cruel loss?" He was deeply, romantically in earnest, and Mrs. Stone could not help admiring his nobility. "No, Teddy, it's not selfish, for you _are_ a good match, and I'll help you with sweet Kathleen, if I can. I used to be called a good match-maker in other days when I went more into society, and I'll exert my powers now for your benefit." "Thank you over and over!" he exclaimed, fervently. Thus in two homes in Boston plans were being made to keep Ralph Chainey and Kathleen apart. Teddy Darrell meant to marry his old sweetheart, if she was to be won, and Alpine Belmont was scheming to marry Ralph. These two hearts, that had gone out so tenderly in love to each other, seemed but footballs of fate, tossed relentlessly hither and thither. Well might Kathleen, tossing restlessly on her soft bed, wet the pillow with bitter, burning tears for her lost love--her false love, as she believed. CHAPTER XXIX. FEDORA'S ESCAPE. Let me see him once more, for a moment or two; Let him tell me himself of his purpose, dear, do; Let him gaze in these eyes while he lays out his plan To escape me, and then he may go--if he can! FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. Kathleen had promised to write to Samuel Hall and let him know when she arrived safely in Boston, and the next morning, although she felt really weak and ill, she kept her promise. She wrote a kind and grateful letter to the noble clerk, again thanking him for his goodness to her, and telling him of her terrible disappointment on reaching home. "I can not understand it all, I am so dazed with my trouble," she wrote. "But papa is dead--lost at sea--and the strangest thing I ever heard of, he made a will just before he sailed for America, and disinherited me--his only child. Think of the strangeness--the cruelty of it. But he is dead; I must not harbor unkind thoughts of him. I am sure some malignant influence was brought to bear. But I am homeless, penniless, but for this friend, Mrs. Stone, with whom I am staying. I can not now repay you the sum of money you so nobly advanced me to return home on, but I shall never forget it, and the time may come when I shall be able to restore it fourfold. Till then God bless you is the prayer of your friend till death. "KATHLEEN CAREW."