She kissed the strong hand clasped in her own; her warm tears fell on it. "You are very good to me," she said, "and though I tell you that I come to you as one risen from the dead--though I have no name, no friends--you will trust me, you will believe in me?" "Yes," replied Dr. Chalmers, calmly. "I have not studied the human face all these years to be mistaken at last. I trust you implicitly." "You must have a name," cried Mrs. Chalmers; "all the world need not know what we know. People will think you are a ward or _protégée_ of mine; but you must have a name." "Let her take ours, mother," suggested her son. But Hyacinth's face flushed. "That would hardly do," said Mrs. Chalmers. "I will give you mine, my dear--the name that was mine in my girlhood--people used to think it a pretty one--Millicent Holte." CHAPTER XXV. "Millicent Holte--that is the name you must assume," said Mrs. Chalmers to Hyacinth; "and, though I never was so pretty or so sweet as you are, still I was a very happy girl--and I do not like to see a young life blighted. Kiss me, Millicent; you shall be like a daughter to me." "I do not remember my own mother," observed the girl, simply, laying her fair head on the kindly breast, "and I thank Heaven for sending me to you." "Before we finish this subject at once and forever," said the doctor, "let me ask you, Millicent, is there anything that I can do for you in connection with your secret? If so, speak to me just as freely as though I were your brother, and command me as you will." "You can do nothing," she answered, mournfully. "I should not have given up but that I knew all hope was past, nothing can undo what has been done--nothing can remove, nothing lighten its shadow." "Are you unjustly punished?" he asked. "Sometimes I think so, but I cannot tell." "We will not mention the matter again," said the doctor, kindly; "we will think only of the new life and getting well. As a preparatory step to the latter, let me tell you that you must eat all these grapes, and then lie down and sleep again." For the sweet face had grown so white and worn, so pale and tired--he saw that the effort she had made had been a most painful one. "We will leave her alone, mother," he said. But before Mrs. Chalmers quitted the room she unlocked a drawer and took from it a small purse; this she placed in Millicent's hand. "This is yours, my dear," she said; "it fell from your pocket the evening you came here." The sight of the little purse almost unnerved her. She remembered how Adrian had laughed at it, and had promised to buy her one with golden clasps. She took it, and then looked wistfully in the lady's face. "No, my dear," said Mrs. Chalmers, "it is not to be thought of for one moment. What my son and I have done has not been for gain. Keep it, my poor child; you will need it in this new life that lies before you."