"May be," replied the young girl, curtly, without changing her position. But Felix was not the man to be defeated so easily. He came up to the place where Oswald and Helen were sitting, and said: "But, Helen, surely you will not refuse me the first request I ever made of you?" "Why not?" replied the other, and her voice sounded peculiarly harsh and bitter. "I cannot bear begging and beggars, and you had better learn that at once." "Have you twisted your foot, dearest cousin?" asked Felix. "Why?" "Because you sit so still, and are in such awful humor," replied Felix, laughing, and went to join the others, without giving a sign that he had been hurt by Helen's manner. "Will you not join the company, doctor?" asked Helen, on whose cheeks the excitement of the last little scene was still glowing, while the others began the somewhat steep path which led down to the beach. "Do you wish to be alone?" "Oh, no! on the contrary, I am glad you mean to stay. After the very witty conversation at dinner, and since, I feel the want of talking sense for a little while. You have not told me yet whether I have hurt your feelings unwittingly, by some thoughtless word, perhaps?" "No, not in the least. But I received some news night before last which has distressed me deeply.... Do you remember a Professor Berger, whom you met at Ostend three years ago?" "Oh, very well! He is not so easily forgotten. I can see him now before me, with his magnificent eyes under the heavy eyebrows, and always something clever on his lips. What of him? He is not dead?" "No, worse--than that--he is insane!" "For God's sake! Professor Berger? The very picture of a clear and lofty mind. How can that be? Did you tell papa and mamma?" "No, and I beg you will not tell them; I could not bear just now to hear the matter discussed." "You were very fond of the professor?" "He was my best, perhaps my only friend." "How I pity you!" said Helen, and she showed very clearly in her beautiful face the sympathy she felt. "Such a loss must be terrible. And you are here quite alone with your grief, and no one to sympathize with your suffering?" "I have been accustomed to that all my life." "Have you no parents, no near relatives?" "My mother died when I was an infant; my father died many years ago; I never had brother or sister, nor have I ever known any relatives of mine." Helen was silent, drawing lines in the sand with the point of her sun-shade. Suddenly she raised her head and said, in a tone that sounded half like complaint and half like defiance: "Do you know that one may have parents and brothers--yes! and even relatives, and yet be quite alone, and feel very lonely! And you are, after all, well off, for you are a man; you can act for yourself, while----"