"Not at all, my dear mamma," said the young girl, rising and going to meet her mother. "You were staying so unusually long in your room to-day, that I thought I had better see what keeps you here. Lamartine's _Voyage_! Well, quite a nice book, but a little too romantic, I should say. To be sure, at my age the views of life change, and with them our views on books and men. But I am glad you are not idle, as you have the talent to occupy yourself. I was almost afraid our monotonous life here would contrast too badly with the gay animation of the Institute, and you might feel the difference unpleasantly. We can do so little for your amusement here! That was always my reply when your father wanted you to come home from boarding-school." "But I assure you, dear mamma, you trouble yourself quite unnecessarily," said Miss Helen, kissing her mother's hand respectfully. "I am very happy here, and how could it be otherwise? I am once more in my paternal home, where everybody meets me with love and kindness. I have all I can wish for. I should really be very, very ungrateful, if I were to forget that for a moment." "You are a dear, sensible girl," said the baroness, kissing her beautiful daughter on the forehead. "You will give me great joy yet. That is my certain hope, as it is my daily prayer. Ah, my dear child, believe me, I stand in need of such a prospect, if I am not to succumb to the many cares which oppress me." The baroness had taken a seat on a small sofa; she looked quite excited, and dried her eyes with her handkerchief. "Why, dear mamma," said Miss Helen, with sincere sympathy, "I am only a simple, inexperienced girl, but if you feel confidence in me, tell me what it is? Even if I cannot advise or help, I can perhaps comfort you, and that would give me very great pleasure." "My dear child," said the baroness, "you have been away from your father's house so very long,--come, sit down here, and let us have a nice confidential chat,--that you know of course very little about our circumstances. You think we are rich, very rich; but the truth is almost the contrary; at least as far as we women are concerned. The whole large fortune goes to your brother after your father's death--which God Almighty will, I hope, defer for a long time yet--I shall have nothing but the small insurance, and you, my poor child, will be left without anything at all." "But, mamma, I have always heard that Stantow and Baerwalde belong to papa, and that he can dispose of them as he likes?"