But it was no wonder that each morning, when the kind eyes of her hostess scanned her face so anxiously, she found it paler and paler, while the dark eyes were somber and heavy from the tears that always lay so near them, and the sweet, red lips had always a tremulous curve, as if from repressed sobs. Mrs. Stone's kind heart ached for the unhappy young creature who only wept at all her attempts at comfort. She said to herself that she did not believe there was much chance for Teddy Darrell, after all. The girl did not show the least interest when she spoke of her cousin. Her whole heart seemed to be absorbed in grief for her father's death, and in wonder over the fact that he had been mysteriously angry with her, and given her share of his wealth to her step-sister. "Papa always loved me, and I never did anything to vex him, so why did he hate me? Why did he leave his poor Kathleen alone and penniless in the cold world?" she would sob, piteously. Mrs. Stone had no answer ready for that oft-repeated inquiry. It was a mystery to her, too, why Vincent Carew had done such a cruel and wicked thing. She did not know that Mrs. Carew had brought about the whole thing by her malicious cablegram. If she had only waited until that strange telegram from Ralph Chainey had been explained, how different Kathleen's fate would have been! Ill and penniless, the dead millionaire's beautiful young daughter was as poor and wretched as any beggar in the streets, only for this kind friend. "Cheer up, my dear, cheer up!" she urged, kindly; but Kathleen could not even bring a smile to her poor, stiff lips. Teddy Darrell came every day to inquire after her, and he was shocked at the change in beautiful Kathleen. "She looks awfully ill--almost as if she were going to die," he confided to his cousin after a week, in a troubled tone. "She _is_ ill; I'm sure of it; for she eats no more than a little bird, and she gets weaker every day. I think I had better have the doctor up, don't you?" she answered, anxiously. "Yes; I'll send him when I go out," Teddy replied; and then he went back to the young girl, who was lying back in an easy-chair, trying to interest herself in a little book of poems he had brought her with some flowers. "Do you find anything pretty in it?" he asked, tenderly. "I--I don't know. I'm afraid I've not tried," she answered, penitently, ashamed that she could not seem happier to these kind friends who were so good. He took the book from her hands and began to read aloud some pretty bits here and there, in a musical and well-modulated voice. "Listen to this. I am sure you will agree with me that it is pretty," he said, and read, softly: "'Oh, Love, so sweet at first, So bitter in the end; Thou canst be fiercest foe As well as fairest friend. "'Ay, thou art swift to slay, Despite thy kiss and clasp, Thy long, caressing look, Thy subtle, thrilling grasp!