“O Horace! I have remembered,” the woman sobbed, breaking down utterly for a moment. “I believe I should have yielded and set everything right when he finished,” she resumed, “if I had not chanced to see our enemies exchanging significant sneers as they, too, realized how he had thrown his whole soul into his song. That hardened me again; I turned my back coldly on him the moment the opera was over, and went home alone in my carriage, and thus my life was ruined. My lover left the city the next day, after having sent me a letter breaking our engagement, saying that under the circumstances it would be but mockery to fulfil our vows, and I never saw him again. He died six months later, and then I learned of the wicked plot that had been contrived to separate us. It changed me from a loving, trusting girl into a proud and bitter woman. I hated everybody, and those most who seemed happiest. This mood grew upon me as I grew older, until I believed that nothing could ever soften or change my nature. But, Salome, I am sure the good God sent you to me upon an errand of redeeming love, for you have influenced me as no one ever influenced me before. I tried to resist even you; I said I would hate you as I had hated all others, although you moved me strangely the moment you came into my presence on that day when you applied for the situation of companion. Then your sweetness and gentleness, your sympathy for me—your faithfulness, when I lay so long ill, finally aroused what little affection there remained in me, and I grew to love you as if you had been my own daughter. I, with my indomitable pride and wilfulness, have been my own worst enemy, Salome; but of late I have really tried to be a better woman—have tried to believe, with you, that there is a kind Father above who does not willingly afflict his children. I have even begun to hope that there may have been a germ of good left in my nature, which you have quickened, and to trust that it will be allowed to develop more fully in the future life. I see all too late, and regret my wasted opportunities here in this world. I have not quite missed all sweetness, for I have at least learned to love you, Salome, and I have enjoyed these months of travel with you more than I can express.” She paused a moment, then went on: “Before we left home, my child, I made my will, and excepting a few legacies to my servants, some of whom have stood by me in spite of my crabbed ways, and a gift to the blind asylum of New York, I have made you my sole heir——” “But, dear Miss Leonard——” Salome began, aghast, astonished beyond measure by this unexpected intelligence.