“Indeed you will not,” Virgie cried eagerly; “that is, if you will allow me to continue my work. I have become so accustomed to regular employment—I love my work so well, that I shall be far happier to continue it. I will not try to do quite so much,” she added, thoughtfully, “now that there is no actual necessity for it; I will perhaps give you one or two designs a year, but I could not think of living an idle life.” “I shall be only too glad to get anything from your pen,” Mr. Knight returned. “But what do you think about removing to New York? I am contemplating giving up my business here and establishing myself in New York city. My partner, who, as you know, is a younger man than I, wants to branch out a little more than I care to at my age, so I have sold out to him. Still, I, too, am unwilling to be idle, so I think I will go East and do a little quiet business on my own account.” “It matters very little to me where I am located,” Virgie said, with a sigh. It was a little hard, she thought, not to have any ties anywhere. “I should like to travel a portion of every year, and I may as well make my headquarters in New York as anywhere.” And now it seemed as if a very peaceful, if not delightful future lay before her; yet, aside from the many advantages which her newly acquired wealth would enable her to give her child, its possession gave her but very little pleasure. She did not believe that life would ever hold any special enjoyment for her again. Excepting her child, she had not a single object for which to live, nothing to look forward to. She cared little for society, indeed she shrank from meeting strangers; at least, those in her own position in life, although she went much among the poor, and spent money freely upon them. When Mr. Knight went to New York she went also, making a quiet but elegant home for herself not far from his residence, where he and his sister kept bachelor’s and old maid’s hall, and there she lived her uneventful life, with nothing save a season of travel now and then, to vary its monotony. Thus several years went by. She never heard one word either from or of Heathdale; she knew not whether Sir William was living or dead, prosperous or otherwise, though often her heart yearned for some tidings of him. One summer, when little Virgie was nine years of age, they went for a week or two to Niagara Falls. Virgie had never visited the place, and she promised herself a rare treat in studying nature there in all its grandeur, and in making some sketches for the coming winter’s work. She reached the village late in the day, and was driven directly to one of the principal hotels, where she ordered a couple of rooms—for she had a maid with her—and then stepped to the office to register. After she had done so she carelessly glanced over some of the preceding pages to see who were guests in the house.