“Well, then, you can work for Auntie Clara while we are gone; and she is such a darling auntie, and she is very kind to all poor people. So is mamma too, and Paul, and Minnie is too.” While she was talking the count approached, being anxious to know why she stayed so long. Dan rose totteringly from his seat when the elegant gentleman appeared. “My child,” the count said to Minnie, who ran towards him, “your mamma is anxious about you. Go quickly and get ready. The train leaves in a few minutes.” And taking her up in his arms, he kissed her tenderly. She had not buried her bird. Her heart had failed at the last moment. She would leave him with auntie, she said. As she ran back toward the house, the count turned to the man and said, “You look ill, my friend. You had better go to Dr. Forest, just across the Common.” “I know where he lives,” said Dan. “That is where I am going.” And the count took the poor, broken-down man’s arm, though Dan tried to refuse, and walked with him back to the Common, telling him on the way that Dr. Forest would be able to set him all right, and then would give him work, if he desired it. “Tell him Frauenstein sent you to him, and you will be well taken care of. Or, better, come to the house with me. The doctor may be there by this time.” Dan declined as politely as he could. His emotions were varied, to use a mild term, at being recommended to the charity of his own father by a great nabob, who had adopted his child, and was just at that moment starting on a European tour with that child’s mother. Dan supposed, as a matter of course, that Susie had married this man. His head was in a dazed condition, as, from behind a great tree on the edge of the Common, he saw the party emerge from the house. Susie, and the child, and Linnie received the parting embraces from Clara and the doctor, who then handed them into an open carriage. The count lingered a moment at the porch, holding Clara’s hand. Susie looked more mature, and much more beautiful to Dan than ever before, and through her tears shone a radiant happiness. The count came forward, embraced the doctor, jumped into the carriage, which immediately drove off, Min throwing kisses to the doctor and Clara till it was out of sight. Shame, regret, self-reproach, and jealousy, gnawed at Dan’s very vitals, as he stood there, a poor, forlorn wretch, witnessing a bliss that might have been his, but for his own folly. He felt strangely attracted to the beautiful child. He could feel still her little hand patting his head, and pitying his sorrow. Surely if ever there was an exemplification of poetic retribution, Dan Forest experienced it that day.