eginning in the new life had been swamped in a series of
disastrous events which left her convinced of the impossibility of
escape from the painful shadow of the past. All night her brain had
been whirling in a perfect chaos of thought as she reviewed her advent
to the farm. There had been nothing, from her point of view, but
disaster upon disaster. First her arrival. Then--why, then the "luck"
of the gold find. In her eyes, what was that but the threat of
disaster to come? Had not her aunt told her that this extraordinary
luck that she must ever bring was part of the curse shadowing her
life? Then the coincidence of her nickname. It was truly hideous. The
very incongruity of it made it seem the most terrible disaster of all.
Surely, more than anything else, it pointed the hand of Fate. It was
her father's nickname for her, and he--he had been the worst sufferer
at her hands.

The whole thing seemed so hopeless, so useless. What was the use of
her struggle against this hateful fate? A spirit of rebellion urged
her, and she felt half-inclined to abandon herself to the life that
was hers; to harden herself, and, taking the cup life offered her,
drain it to the dregs. Why should she waste her life battling with a
force which seemed all-powerful? Why should she submit to the terror
of it? What were the affairs of these others to her? She was not
responsible. Nothing in the whole sane world of ethics could hold her
responsible.

The spirit of rebellion, for the moment, obtained the upper hand. She
had youth; Fortune had bestowed a face and figure upon her that she
need not be ashamed of, and a healthy capacity for enjoyment. Then why
should she abandon all these gifts because of a fate for which she was
in no way responsible?

She pushed back her chair from the table, and crossed to the open
front door.

The sun was not yet up, and the morning air was dewy and fresh with
perfumes such as she had never experienced in St. Ellis. It was--yes,
it was good to be alive on such a day in spite of everything.

She glanced out over the little farm--her farm. Yes, it was all hers,
bought and paid for, and she still had money for all her needs and to
do those things she wanted to do. She turned away and looked back into
the little parlor with its simple furnishings, its mannish odds and
ends upon the wall. She heard the sounds of the old housekeeper busy
in her heavy, blundering way with the domestic work of her home. She
had so