the tent. She
watches me like a cat, and will scarce let me speak to any one. She's so
big and strong, and I'm so slight and weak. She would kill me in one of
her rages. Then she tells every one I'm no good, an ingrate, everything
that's bad. Once when I threatened to run away, she said she would
accuse me of stealing and have me put in gaol. That's the kind of woman
she is."

"This is terrible, Berna. What have you been doing all the time?"

"Oh, I've been working, working for them. They've been running a little
restaurant and I've waited on table. I saw you several times, but you
were always too busy or too far away in dreams to see me, and I couldn't
get a chance to speak. But we're going down the lake to-morrow, so I
thought I would just slip away and say good-bye."

"Not good-bye," I faltered; "not good-bye."

Her tone was measured, her eyes closed almost.

"Yes, I'm afraid I must say it. When we get down there, it's good-bye,
good-bye. The less you have to do with me, the better."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean this. These people are not decent. They're vile. I must go
with them; I cannot get away. Already, though I'm as pure as your sister
would be, already my being with them has smirched me in everybody's
eyes. I can see it by the way the men look at me. No, go your way and
leave me to whatever fate is in store for me."

"Never!" I said harshly. "What do you take me for, Berna?"

"My friend ... you know, after his death, when I was so sick, I wanted
to die. Then I got your letter, and I felt I must see you again for--I
thought a lot of you. No man's ever been so kind to me as you have.
They've all been--the other sort. I used to think of you a good deal,
and I wanted to do some little thing to show you I was really grateful.
On the boat I used to notice you because you were so quiet and
abstracted. Then you were grandfather's room-mate and gentle and kind to
him. You looked different from the others, too; your eyes were good----"

"Oh, come, Berna, never mind that."

"Yes, I mean it. I just wanted to tell you the things a poor girl
thought of you. But now it's all nearly over. We've neither of us got to
think of each other any more ... and I just wanted to give you this--to
remind you sometimes of Berna."

It was a poor little locket and it contained a lock of her silken hair.

"It's worth nothing, I know, but just keep it for me."

"Indeed I will, Berna, keep it always, and wear it for you