“Her real name is Sarah Rockwell. My father married Mrs. Rockwell, who was the widow of a cousin of my mother, when her daughter was a girl of twelve, and I was ten years of age. That would make her a distant cousin, in fact we called ourselves cousins, until she came to live in the same house with me. “Her mother stipulated, when she became my father’s wife, that her daughter should be regularly adopted so that she could bear the same name, and thus she became Sarah Rochester. How she came to be called Sadie you will understand as I go on. When I was a little child I had a nurse who was very fond of me and she would not call me Salome. She said the name was too old-fashioned—too old-maidish. She tried to nickname me by calling me ‘Lomie;’ but this my mother objected to, and the nurse laughingly said there was nothing else but Sally. ‘Yes, we can call her Sadie,’ said my mother, and Sadie I was from that time on. After my father’s second marriage it was a little troublesome to have two children in the family with names so nearly alike, and my step-mother wanted to use my whole name, Salome; but my father had become accustomed to the other, and would not countenance the change. As I said before, she was twelve and I ten when she came to live with us, and she shared equally with me in every advantage, for Mrs. Rochester was particular to demand as much for her child, in every respect, as my father gave to his. But from the very first she was strangely jealous of me, and though she dared not be otherwise than civil to me in my father’s presence, it was soon patent to me that she was secretly my bitter enemy. My father was an invalid for many years, but though he was often irritable and had many whims and fancies, as invalids often have—even though he was strangely cold and indifferent to me—I loved him very dearly, and was never so happy as when I was in his room waiting upon him and ministering to his many wants. He had his own private attendant, but he often used to tell me that I was the better nurse of the two, and I know that I did become quite proficient in the care of him. We came abroad shortly after his marriage with Mrs. Rockwell, and travelled about from place to place, according to his pleasure or fancy; but nothing was ever said to me about his plans for my future, until a few months before he died. Then one day he told me that he had pledged me to the son and heir of his dearest friend and college chum, Milton Hamilton; who, although he resided in New York most of the time, owned the estate adjoining Brookside—a fine place belonging to my father, but which he had left after my mother’s death and had only visited at intervals since. I supposed from what my father told me, that the name of the man whom he wanted me to marry was also Hamilton; he did not tell me that he was simply the adopted son of his friend. He said that he was expecting him to join us abroad that fall, and he wished me to be prepared to give him