"None at all," replied Miss Van Ramsden. "It was a mystery then and remains so to this day. That bookkeeper was a peculiar man, but had a good record; and it seems that he left the city before the checks were cashed. Or, so the evidence seemed to prove. "Now, don't cry, my dear! Come! I wish we could help you clear up that old trouble. But many of your father's old friends--like papa--never believed Prince Morrell guilty." Helen was crying by this time. The kindness of this older girl broke down her self-possession. They heard somebody coming up the stairs, and Miss Van Ramsden said, quickly: "Take me to your room, dear. We can talk there." Helen never thought that she might be giving the Starkweather family deadly offence by doing this. She led Miss Van Ramsden immediately to the rear of the house and up the back stairway to the attic floor. The caller looked somewhat amazed when Helen ushered her into the room. "Well, they could not have put you much nearer the sky; could they?" she said, laughing, yet eyeing Helen askance. "Oh, I don't mind it up here," returned Helen, truthfully enough. "And I have some company on this floor." "Ahem! The maids, I suppose?" said May Van Ramsden. "No, no," Helen assured her, eagerly. "The dearest little old lady you ever saw." Then she stopped and looked at her caller in some distress. For the moment she had forgotten that she was probably on the way to reveal the Starkweather family skeleton! "A little old lady? Who can _that_ be?" cried the caller. "You interest me." "I--I--Well, it is an old lady who was once nurse in the family and I believe Uncle Starkweather cares for her----" "It's never Nurse Boyle?" cried Miss Van Ramsden, suddenly starting up. "Why! I remember about her. But somehow, I thought she had died years ago. Why, as a child I used to visit her at the house, and she used to like to have me come to see her. That was before your cousins lived here, Helen. Then I went to Europe for several years and when we returned the house had all been done over, your uncle's family was here, and I think--I am not sure--somebody told me dear old Mary Boyle was dead." "No," observed Helen, thoughtfully. "She is not dead. She is only forgotten." Miss Van Ramsden looked at the Western girl for some moments in silence. She seemed to understand the whole matter without a word of further explanation. "Would you mind letting me see Mary Boyle while I am here?" she asked, gravely. "She was a very lovely old soul, and all the families hereabout--I have heard my mother often say--quite envied the Starkweathers their possession of such a treasure." "Certainly we can go in and see her," declared Helen, throwing all discretion to the winds. "I was going to read to her this afternoon, anyway. Come along!" She led the caller through the hall to Mary Boyle's little suite of rooms. To herself Helen said: