"Are they not?" said Una, quietly. "I don't know. Perhaps my father learned all he knows from books." "And taught you in the same way. Tell me what books you have read." Una smiled softly, and as she did so, Mrs. Davenant started, and looked around at her with something like fright in her grave, still eyes. "What is the matter?" asked Una. "No--nothing," replied the other. "I--you reminded me of somebody when you laughed, I can't tell whom. But the books, you were going to tell me about the books." "I can't remember all," said Una, and then she mentioned the titles of some of the well-bound volumes which stood on the little bookshelf in the hut. Mrs. Davenant regarded her curiously. "Those are all books of a world that existed long ago," she said. "You have never read any novels--any novels of present day life?" "No, I think not." "Then you are absolutely ignorant of life as it is," said Mrs. Davenant. "Yes, I suppose so," assented Una. "I can understand now how useful fiction really is," murmured Mrs. Davenant. "It is by it alone that a future age will understand what ours is. You are entering upon some strange experiences, Miss Rolfe." Una started; the name was so unfamiliar to her that she hardly recognized it. "Please don't call me that," she said, laying her hand on Mrs. Davenant's arm. "My name is Eunice--Una. Call me Una." "I will," said Mrs. Davenant. "You have promised to love me, you know." "A promise easy to keep, my dear," she said, and her eyes grew moist. "I little thought when my son Stephen telegraphed to meet him that he was taking me to a daughter." "Your son Stephen--he sent for you!" said Una, with frank curiosity. "How did he know of my existence?" "Through some friend," said Mrs. Davenant, with much hesitation and nervous embarrassment. "My son is a very good man, and always interesting himself in some good cause or other--something that will benefit his fellow creatures. You--you will like my son when you know more of him," she added, and though she spoke with pride there was a touch of something like fear in her voice, which always came when she mentioned his name or spoke of his goodness. "Yes," said Una, simply, "I will for your sake." "Thank you, my dear," murmured Mrs. Davenant. "But how," went on Una, after thinking a moment, "how did his friend know anything about me? Did my father----" "I don't know, Una," said Mrs. Davenant, nervously. "Stephen doesn't always tell me everything; you see he has so much to think of, and just now he is in great trouble, you know." "Ah! yes," said Una, gently; "and he had not time to tell you. But he will. I am sorry he is in such trouble." Then, after a pause, she said: "Are you rich?" Mrs. Davenant started. The question, so unusual and so strange, bewildered her by its suddenness and its frankness. "Rich, my dear?" she said. "Yes--I suppose I am rich." "And he is rich?" "He will be, perhaps; we do not know until his uncle's will is read."