“You told me that you were alone in the world, Fair. I, too, am alone in the world, for my husband died of consumption ten years ago, and now my only child, my sweet Azalia, is dead, at only eighteen years of age, of the same disease. I am rich, and have no near relations to live with me, so if you care to stay with me and be my loving daughter, I will be your loving mother.” “Oh, how good you are--how noble!” Fair cried, in gratitude, and Mrs. Howard smiled at her in her sweet, sad way, as she added: “There is only one condition, and that is that you let your fate remain a mystery to those who have known you in the past. It seems, from your own words, that they did not take in you the interest they should have done, so we will let them drop out of your life as you from theirs, and this will be the easier as I intend to travel, and want to take you with me, of course. We will go as soon as you are able to travel. What do you say to my plan, dear?” “That I accept your offer with the deepest gratitude. I will be your devoted daughter, dear, noble mother,” murmured Fair, overjoyed at the thought of going away from New York and leaving Carl Bernicci forever. She had but one regret, and that was for her dear, faithful friend, Sadie Allen. “But I must bear that for the sake of all that I shall gain by staying with my adopted mother,” she thought, adding gravely: “Oh, may Heaven forgive me if I err in not telling this noble lady of my unfortunate marriage. But I fear to speak. What if she should cast me off in disgust? I cannot risk it. I must keep that fatal marriage a dead secret. It is the only safe way.” And, with the prospect of getting out of New York before her, she convalesced rapidly, to the delight of her kind adopted mother, who now set about getting a traveling outfit for Fair. CHAPTER XVII. TWO YEARS OF TRAVEL. Two years went by, in which the working girl so suddenly removed from want to wealth had had dazzling glimpses of a world heretofore seen only in dreams, or read of in romances over which she had pondered with eager eyes. In those two years she had traveled far and wide over her native land, in the company of her adopted mother, and now they were in England. During the fall they had traveled through Switzerland, France, and Germany, and just now they were in London, where Mrs. Howard had taken a handsome furnished house for a few weeks. Her present plans were to remain there until the first of November, when she would go to Italy for the winter, as recommended by the clever physician whom she had called in to prescribe for a hacking cough that had begun to trouble her of late. “The climate of Italy would suit her best for this winter,” he said, and she at once made arrangements, through an agent, to secure a villa in Florence.