"A more utterly heartless proceeding I must say I never heard of. I am only glad he has turned the girl over to us instead of doing worse by her." Then, as she saw Rhoda standing near, she came forward and took her hand, saying, kindly,— "And so you have come back to us, little Rhoda, after all these years? I suppose you don't remember me?" "I remember your face, ma'am, but not your name," answered Rhoda, very much perplexed. "Well, that is no wonder," said the lady. "Miss Carpenter, you might as well give her a room by herself for the present, as there are several empty. Don't distress yourself, child. You shall have a home here till we know what to do with you, and you may be sure we shall not turn you out." "I don't quite understand," faltered Rhoda, feeling as if she were in a puzzling dream. "Where has my father gone?" "She is all in the dark," said Miss Carpenter. "They have not told her anything the matter." "Is it possible?" said Mrs. Mulford, with more indignation than before. "My dear, what did Mr. Bowers tell you he was going to do with you?" "He told me I was going to make a little visit here, and perhaps board here and go to school," answered Rhoda. "He said he would settle that when we got here." "And nothing was said about your adopted parents giving you up—nothing about their returning you on our hands?" "Giving me up!" repeated Rhoda. "What do you mean?" "My poor, dear child, it is even so," said Miss Carpenter, tenderly. "They have given you up. Your father says he has a family of his own now, and in justice to them, he cannot keep you any longer. This is your home for the present, and I grieve to tell you that you have no other." If the solid earth had yawned to swallow Rhoda, she could hardly have been more astounded. And yet in the very first moment, she felt it was all true. A hundred hints, a hundred circumstances, were all explained to her at once. Yes, they had abandoned her. After eight years of care—eight years in which she had almost forgotten that she had ever belonged to any one else—they had left her to the mercy of a public charity. Her head turned round, and she put out her hand blindly for help. She felt herself supported by somebody, and then the world fled from her and she sank down in a dead faint. CHAPTER V. _A NEW LIFE._ FOR many days Rhoda was very ill with a kind of nervous fever, and for many more she lay in her pleasant little room, weak and languid, and so thoroughly depressed that her friends began to fear for her mind. She had every care and kindness, for every one in the house knew her story and felt interested in her, and even Aunty Parsons, who generally resented whatever was done for anybody else as so much taken from herself, expressed the opinion that that girl wasn't half taken care of, and ought to have some real good whisky with cherry bark in it, that being a cordial to which the old lady was much addicted.