She was continually plied with questions by the rest of the boarders as to how long since her husband had died, and how long since she had taken off mourning, or if she had put on mourning at all for him, and if baby reminded her of its poor, dear, dead papa. Dorothy's alarm at this can more readily be imagined than described. She almost felt like bursting into a flood of tears and running from the room. It had gone so far now that she was ashamed to tell the truth; and then there was the terrible fear that if people knew it was not her very own they would take it from her; and she had learned to love it with all the fondness of her desperate, lonely heart. And then, too, it seemed to know her and feel sorry for her. It knew her, and would coo to her, and cry for her to take it. She had named it, long since, little Pearl, because she had fished it from the water. But, to tell the truth, she found it a terrible responsibility on her hands. She did not know what to do with the child. She could not go out and leave it in the house, and she couldn't take it with her. She had been searching for a situation the last few days, and, to her unspeakable horror, she found that no one wanted a young woman encumbered with a child. Had she been older, she would have known better than to have assumed such a responsibility; but Dorothy was young, and had some of life's bitterest lessons yet to learn. Dorothy had turned her face resolutely against the fortune which Doctor Bryan had left. She quite believed, if she was not there to receive it, it would go to Kendal, her faithless lover. She wanted him to have it. She did not care for any of it. She had been only a working girl when Doctor Bryan sought her out and took her to his home; she could be only a working girl again. CHAPTER XXVII. In the hour of Dorothy's desolation her heart went back to Jack Garner, who had loved her so in other days. Poor Jack! whom she had thrown over so cruelly for a handsomer, wealthier fellow, only to be deserted by him in turn for the first pretty face that had crossed his path. And that very day came the turning point of her life. She had answered an advertisement a few days before by letter to an intelligence office, and in the course of a week she received the following reply: "MY DEAR MADAM--Replying to your note, would say your communication was hardly explicit enough for us to determine whether you would suit our patron or not. "The party we refer to is Mrs. Garner, a widow. Her family consists of one son, a niece who lives with them, and a young lady. "They wish a companion for Mrs. Garner. She requires a somewhat elderly woman. Even the child would not be so objectionable, if the right person were secured." The letter dropped from Dorothy's hand, and she uttered a low cry; but presently picking it up, and reading it eagerly through again, she found a postscript added to it which read as follows: