“No; only a few family papers, and a letter from my father, introducing me to an elderly lady in England--a connection of his by marriage, whom I have never seen. The lady has consented to receive me as her companion and reader. If I don’t return to England soon, some other person may get the place.” “Have you no other resource?” “None. My education has been neglected--we led a wild life in the far West. I am quite unfit to go out as a governess. I am absolutely dependent on this stranger, who receives me for my father’s sake.” She put the letter-case back in the pocket of her cloak, and ended her little narrative as unaffectedly as she had begun it. “Mine is a sad story, is it not?” she said. The voice of the nurse answered her suddenly and bitterly in these strange words: “There are sadder stories than yours. There are thousands of miserable women who would ask for no greater blessing than to change places with you.” Grace started. “What can there possibly be to envy in such a lot as mine?” “Your unblemished character, and your prospect of being established honorably in a respectable house.” Grace turned in her chair, and looked wonderingly into the dim corner of the room. “How strangely you say that!” she exclaimed. There was no answer; the shadowy figure on the chest never moved. Grace rose impulsively, and drawing her chair after her, approached the nurse. “Is there some romance in your life?” she asked. “Why have you sacrificed yourself to the terrible duties which I find you performing here? You interest me indescribably. Give me your hand.” Mercy shrank back, and refused the offered hand. “Are we not friends?” Grace asked, in astonishment. “We can never be friends.” “Why not?” The nurse was dumb. Grace called to mind the hesitation that she had shown when she had mentioned her name, and drew a new conclusion from it. “Should I be guessing right,” she asked, eagerly, “if I guessed you to be some great lady in disguise?” Mercy laughed to herself--low and bitterly. “I a great lady!” she said, contemptuously. “For Heaven’s sake, let us talk of something else!” Grace’s curiosity was thoroughly roused. She persisted. “Once more,” she whispered, persuasively, “let us be friends.” She gently laid her hand as she spoke on Mercy’s shoulder. Mercy roughly shook it off. There was a rudeness in the action which would have offended the most patient woman living. Grace drew back indignantly. “Ah!” she cried, “you are cruel.” “I am kind,” answered the nurse, speaking more sternly than ever. “Is it kind to keep me at a distance? I have told you my story.” The nurse’s voice rose excitedly. “Don’t tempt me to speak out,” she said; “you will regret it.” Grace declined to accept the warning. “I have placed confidence in you,” she went on. “It is ungenerous to lay me under an obligation, and then to shut me out of your confidence in return.”