“I can never tell this kind and noble gentleman the story of my blighted love-dream. I do not believe that he could understand a nature so ignoble, so fickle as that of the handsome lover I trusted so fondly, and who failed me so cruelly in the end. His name shall never pass my lips either in praise or blame, although I never can forget him.” Her new friend continued in a clear, low voice, just audible above the rumble of their carriage-wheels on the stony street: “But I have not told you who I am yet, so perhaps I had better introduce myself. My name is Miller. I am an Englishman, and but a few months ago inherited a title and large estate from my father, who was a peer of the realm.” “You are great and rich!” exclaimed Floy; and he caught a note of disappointment in her voice, and wondered at it. He continued his story by saying: “Wealth and position do not always bring happiness. They stood in the way of mine.” “And of mine,” thought Floy, in silent sympathy, while he went on: “Eighteen years ago--ah, me! how long it seems!--I was the heir apparent to my father, a powerful noble, and a member of parliament. I was his only son, and all his hopes centered in me. My mother was dead, and I used to spend much of my time with a favorite aunt in London, who had two charming children. I met there a beautiful American girl recently orphaned, who was employed as a governess. We loved at first sight.” “It is a great pity for the rich and poor to fall in love with each other. It can not end happy!” cried Floy, out of the bitterness of her own experience. “How cynically you speak! Has the world already made you so wise?” exclaimed Lord Miller, in surprise; but Floy blushed without replying, unwilling to betray herself further. And again he took up the thread of his story: “I see that you understand what a _mésalliance_ it would be considered for the heir to a title to marry a poor governess, though she was pure as an angel and beautiful as a princess. I knew it all too well, but love would not listen to reason. I won her promise to be mine, and then, hopeless of gaining my father’s consent to be married, persuaded my darling to elope with me. Her consent was hardly won, but she became my bride at a little English church, and we went to live in a pretty cottage home pending my forgiveness by my father. Alas! it was never to be won. My father cursed me, and drove me from his presence, swearing that I should never have a penny from him, and that I should live on the beggarly two hundred a year that I inherited as a legacy from my mother. My aunt was also obdurate, and would have nothing to do with us. In fact, we got the cold shoulder from all our former friends.” “The rich are as cruel as death!” murmured Floy. “Not all of them, dear child, as I shall convince you by and by,” returned Lord Miller, wondering what cruel experience had made her so harsh and bitter, and resolving that she should be his adopted child if she would consent.