agreement made by the two friends that if either died
the living one should care for the widow and fatherless. To see the two
you would not have guessed that the athletic Ralph would be the first to
go, yet so it was. He died ere you were born."

"Then he is dead? Oh, I'm so sorry," Alice exclaimed.

"Yes, he's dead; and, as far as possible, your father fulfilled his
promise to the widow and her child--a little boy, five years old, of
whom Mrs. Worthington herself was appointed guardian. I never knew what
spirit of evil possessed Eliza, but in less than a year after her
husband's death, she made a second and most unfortunate marriage. Mr.
Murdoch proved a greater scoundrel than we supposed, and when their
little girl was nearly two years old, we heard of a divorce. Mr.
Johnson's health was failing fast, and we were about to make the tour of
Europe. Just before we sailed we visited poor Eliza, whom we found
heartbroken, for the brutal wretch had managed to steal her daughter,
and carried it no one knew whither. I never shall forgot the distress of
the brother. Clasping my dress, he sobbed: 'Oh, lady, please bring back
my baby sister, or Hugh will surely die.' I've often thought of him
since, and wondered what he had grown to be. We comforted Eliza as best
we could, and left money to be used for her in case she needed it. Then
we embarked with you and Densie for Europe. You know how long we stayed
there, how for a while, your father seemed to regain his strength, how
he at last grew worse and hastened home to die. In the sorrow and
excitement which followed, it is not strange that Eliza was for a time
forgotten, and when I remembered and inquired for her again, I heard
that Hugh had been adopted by some relation in Kentucky, that the stolen
child had been mysteriously returned, and was living with its mother in
Elmwood.

"At first Eliza appeared a little cool, but this soon wore off. She did
not talk much of Hugh. Neither did she say much of Adaline, who was then
away at school. Still my visit was a sadly satisfactory one, as we
recalled old times when we were girls together, weeping over our great
loss when our husbands were laid to rest. Then we spoke of their
friendship, and lastly of the contract.

"'It sounds preposterous, in me, I know,' Mrs. Worthington said, when we
parted, 'you are so rich, and I so poor, but if ever your Alice should
want a mother's care, I will gladly give it to her.'

"This was nearly ei