"Oh, what shall I do now?" she moaned, despairingly. "I'm sure I don't know, mem," said the man impudently, and making an impatient move to shut the door in her face. He might have done so with impunity, for Laurel, gazing before her with dazed, despairing gaze, was for the moment incapable of speech or action, but at that moment a door opened sharply on the side of the hall, a swish of silk sounded softly, and a clear, sweet voice inquired: "Who is that asking for papa, Charles?" Charles opened the door and fell back obsequiously. A lovely blue-eyed girl, richly dressed, came toward Laurel. "I am Mr. Gordon's daughter. Is your business important?" she inquired with girlish curiosity. She thought she had never seen anything so sweet and sad as the dark, wistful eyes Laurel flashed upward to meet her gaze. "Oh, yes, yes, it is very important," she faltered, incoherently. "Perhaps you could--that is, if you would--" Miss Gordon smiled a little at the tripping speech, but not unkindly. "Come in. I will do what I can," she said, and led Laurel past the discomfited Charles into a lovely little anteroom, with flowers and books and pictures, that made it a little feminine paradise. She pushed a little cushioned blue-satin chair toward Laurel. "Sit down and tell me what you want of papa," she said, gently; and Laurel's impulsive heart went out in a great flood of gratitude to this beautiful stranger who looked and spoke so sweetly. She grasped the back of the chair tightly with both hands, and turned her dark, beseeching eyes on Miss Gordon's face. "I have brought Mr. Vane's manuscript for the magazine," she added. "He--my papa--is dead," she added, with a rush of bitter tears, "and we are so poor I must have the money to pay for his funeral." Instantly Beatrix Gordon drew out her dainty pearl _port-monnaie_. "You poor child!" she said, compassionately. "What is the price of the article?" Laurel named it, and Miss Gordon counted the money out into the little trembling hand, and received the manuscript. "I am very sorry Mr. Vane is dead," she said. "He was a very gifted writer. Has he left you all alone, my poor girl?" with gentle compassion. "All alone," Laurel echoed, drearily. Then suddenly she caught Miss Gordon's hand, and covered it with tears and kisses. "You have been so kind and so noble to me, that I will do anything on earth for you, Miss Gordon," she sobbed out, gratefully. Then she hurried away to bury her dead, little thinking in what way Beatrix Gordon would claim her promise. CHAPTER II. "Come in," said Laurel, faintly, in answer to the sharp rap at the door. The cheap, plain funeral was over, and the orphan sat alone in the deepening twilight in the shabby little room, now invested with a somber dignity all its own since the presence of death had so lately been there. Laurel's head was bowed upon her hands, and tears coursed slowly, each one a scalding drop of woe, down her white cheeks.