"Principally because he was extravagant and your grandfather indulged him in every whim. I cannot dwell on that part of it," said Miss Druett, with that vivid blush again. "He never cared for me. I don't suppose he ever imagined that I could care for him. I would have laid down my life for him, but he did not want it. I never supposed that even Priscilla suspected me till this afternoon. I had a long illness, and when I rose up from it, I was a soured, hardened, elderly woman. "Then came the news of your father's death. Priscilla kept it to herself for a long time; your grandfather never knew it at all." "Why didn't you tell him?" asked Calista. "Because I did not know it myself. Priscilla always made a point of going to the office herself, and all the letters went through her hands. The first I ever heard of the event was when one of your mother's cousins wrote of her death. Your grandfather had been dead about six months then; and one day, to my utter amazement, Priscilla said to me,— "'Druey, I am going to bring home that girl of Richard Stanfield's. A child like that won't cost much to keep, and when she grows up, she can be useful in the house. I want you to go and bring her here.' "'Why, where are her parents?' was my natural question. "And then, for the first time, I learned that Richard Stanfield and his wife were both dead. "You know the rest of it. Do you remember anything that happened before you came?" "Sometimes I do and sometimes not," answered Calista. "I have a kind of shadowy recollection of my mother, as a pale lady, in black, who used to dress dolls for me, and who taught me to say 'Gentle Jesus' and 'Now I lay me down to sleep.' I remember a sickly, lame little boy I used to play with sometimes, and an old lady I used to call Aunt Malvina. I recollect her perfectly. She was feeble, and I don't believe she was rich; but I was very happy with her. I thought of her to-day, when I saw those trunks. Oh, Miss Druett, I do think it is too bad that I cannot have my mother's things." "It is a very hard case, I admit," said Miss Druett. "You had better consult Mr. Settson about the matter." "But, Miss Druett, I can never stay here without you," said Calista. "You are the only friend I have ever had." "And I have not always been very good to you—have I?" "Yes, I think you have—only you do say dreadfully sharp, hard things sometimes. But you are not like Aunt Priscilla; and I am sure I can never live alone with her. I should be afraid. Do you think she can be a little insane?" "No; no more insane than any person is who gives herself up to the dominion of one idea and the pursuit of one object," said Miss Druett. "She is sharp enough about business matters." "She said, to-night, she had never been into grandfather's room since his funeral," said Calista. "Do you think it can be true?" "I presume it is. She has an extreme dread of death, and everything connected with it. Did you go in? I thought I heard you."