Helen attracted much less attention upon her usual early morning walk this time. She was dressed in the mode, if cheaply, and she was not so self-conscious. But, in addition, she thought but little of herself or her own appearance or troubles while she walked briskly uptown. It was of the little old woman, and her mystery, and the butler's words that she thought. She strode along to the park, and walked west until she reached the bridle-path. She had found this before, and came to see the riders as they cantered by. How Helen longed to put on her riding clothes and get astride a lively mount and gallop up the park-way! But she feared that, in doing so, she might betray to her uncle or the girls the fact that she was not the "pauper cowgirl" they thought her to be. She found a seat overlooking the path, at last, and rested for a while; but her mind was not upon the riders. Before ten o'clock she had walked back south, found the entrance to the park opposite Sixth Avenue, and sat down upon the bench specified by the old butler. At the stroke of the hour the old man appeared. "You could not have walked all this way, Lawdor?" said the girl, smiling upon him. "You are not at all winded." "No, Miss. I took the car. I am not up to such walks as you can take," and he shook his head, mumbling: "Oh, no, no, no, no----" "And now, what can you tell me, sir?" she said, breaking in upon his dribbling speech. "I am just as curious as I can be. That dear little old lady! Why is she in uncle's house?" "Ah, Miss! I fancy she will not be there for long, but she was an encumbrance upon it when Mr. Willets Starkweather came with his family to occupy it." "What _do_ you mean?" cried the girl. "Mary Boyle served in the Starkweather family long, long ago. Before I came to valet for Mr. Cornelius, Mary Boyle had her own room and was a fixture in the house. Mr. Cornelius took her more--more philosophically, as you might say, Miss. My present master and his daughters look upon poor Mary Boyle as a nuisance. They have to allow her to remain. She is a life charge upon the estate--that, indeed, was fixed before Mr. Cornelius's time. But the present family are ashamed of her. Perhaps I ought not to say it, but it is true. They have relegated her to a suite upon the top floor, and other people have quite forgotten Mary Boyle--yes, oh, yes, indeed! Quite forgotten her--quite forgotten her----" Then, with the aid of some questioning, Helen heard the whole sad story of Mary Boyle, who was a nurse girl in the family of the older generation of Starkweathers. It was in her arms the last baby of the family had panted his weakly little life out. She, too, had watched by the bed of the lady of the mansion, who had borne these unfortunate children only to see them die.