Lawdor was plainly pleased to wait upon her. He made fresh coffee in his own percolator; there was a cutlet kept warm upon an electric stove, and he insisted upon frying her a rasher of bacon and some eggs. Despite all that mentally troubled her, her healthy body needed nourishment and Helen ate with an appetite that pleased the old man immensely. "If--if you go out early, Miss, don't forget to come here for your coffee," he said. "Or more, if you please. I shall be happy to serve you." "And I'm happy to have you," returned the girl, heartily. She could not assume to him the rude tone and manner which she had displayed to her uncle and cousins. _That_ had been the outcome of an impulse which had risen from the unkind expressions she had heard them use about her. As soon as she could get away, she had ceased being an eavesdropper. But she had heard enough to assure her that her relatives were not glad to see her; that they were rude and unkind, and that they were disturbed by her presence among them. But there was another thing she had drawn from their ill-advised talk, too. She had heard her father mentioned in no kind way. Hints were thrown out that Prince Morrell's crime--or the crime of which he had been accused--was still remembered in New York. Back into her soul had come that wave of feeling she experienced after her father's death. He had been so troubled by the smirch upon his name--the cloud that had blighted his young manhood in the great city. "I'll know the truth," she thought again. "I'll find out who _was_ guilty. They sha'n't drive me away until I have accomplished my object in coming East." This was the only thought she had while she remained under old Lawdor's eye. She had to bear up, and seem unruffled until the breakfast was disposed of and she could escape upstairs. She went up the servants' way. She saw the same girl she had noticed in the parlor early in the morning. "Can you show me my room?" she asked her, timidly. "Top o' the next flight. Door's open," replied the girl, shortly. Already the news had gone abroad among the under servants that this was a poor relation. No tips need be expected. The girl flirted her cloth and turned her back upon Helen as the latter started through the ghost walk and up the other stairway. She easily found the room. It was quite as good as her own room at the ranch, as far as size and furniture went. Helen would have been amply satisfied with it had the room been given to her in a different spirit. But now she closed her door, locked it carefully, hung her jacket over the knob that she should be sure she was not spied upon, and sat down beside the bed. She was not a girl who cried often. She had wept sincere tears the evening before when she learned that Aunt Eunice was dead. But she could not weep now.