"But I wish to make amends, as far as possible, for the misfortune which my bereavement has indirectly brought upon you. I will make such provision for you as to render you independent. Being a fellow-sufferer in my loss, you shall also share a portion of my wealth. Put your trust in me." The girl only shook her head, without speaking. "But pray remember," pursued the baroness, "that good friends forsake us in misfortune, and all are but too prone to censure the unfortunate, if only as an excuse for withholding their aid. You are young and beautiful now, but sorrow ages a person very rapidly. In a new environment you would meet with new people, while here every word and look is sure to injure and distress you. Accept my proffered assistance, and you shall at all times find a friend and protectress in me." At this the girl rose to her feet. "I thank you, madam," said she, "for your kindness; but I shall remain here, even if I have to go into service in some peasant's family in order to earn my bread. You know the history of this ring,"--showing the ring which she wore on the little finger of her left hand. "This ring holds me here, immovable. He who placed it on my finger said to me, as he did so: 'I am going out now into the world as a wandering pilgrim; I am driven forth; but whithersoever fate may lead me, I shall circle around this spot as a planet about its sun. Do you, however, stay here. I shall come back to you some day. Therefore, madam, you will understand that I cannot go away; that no promises, no threats can move me. I will suffer want, if I must, but I will remain here." Baroness Baradlay now rose from her seat also, and took in her own the girl's hand on which was the ring. "Do you, then, love my son?" she asked; "and don't you believe that I love him too? One of us must give him up. Which shall it be?" Aranka, in despair, sought to free her hand; but the other held it fast. "Oh, dear madam," she cried, "why do you ask me that question? Whichever one of us dies first will give him up. Do you wish to make me take my own life?" The widow released Aranka's hand and stood looking into her eyes with a kindly smile. "No," she replied, "I wish him to belong to both of us. He shall be yours, and you shall be mine. You shall be my daughter. Come home with me and keep me company until my son returns; then you shall love each other, while I will content myself with what crumbs of love you may have to spare." The young girl could not believe her ears; she thought she must be dreaming. "Oh, madam," she cried, "what you say is too beautiful to be true. I cannot understand it."