and of hope to
the helpless.

There in that room, where she dwelt continually in those days, she made
no vow, she registered no resolution, she imposed no one self upon
another self within her to thrust out evil and implant good. She had no
need of that. It was all as simply natural as the growth of a flower,
effortless, rising heavenward by its own instinct life.

In one thing only she made a determination of her will. She decided that
with the new year she would at last take over her fortune and estates
into her own management. Until she did that, she could not know what she
had, nor where she should begin her good work. That was absolutely
necessary, and of course, thought she, it presented no difficulty at
all. Possibly her own indolence about it, and her distaste for going
into the question of money and accounts, was a fault with which she
should have reproached herself, because she might have begun to do good
sooner, had she chosen. But she did not think of that. She would begin
with the new year.

As though a good destiny had anticipated her desire, the first call for
her help came suddenly, on the day after the last recorded conversation
between Gregorio and Matilde.

It was still early in the morning when Elettra brought her a letter,
bearing the postmark of the city, and addressed in one of those small,
clear handwritings which seem naturally to belong to scholars and
students. It was from Don Teodoro, and Veronica read it while she drank
her tea and Elettra was making a fire in the next room.

The old priest did not refer to the strange story he had told her ten
days earlier. But he recalled her question concerning the people at Muro
and their condition. They were indeed desperately poor, he said, and the
winter was a hard one in the mountains. There were many sick, and there
was no hospital,--not so much as a room in which a dying beggar might
lie out of the cold. It was a very pitiful tale, told carefully and
accurately. And at the end the good man humbly begged that the most
Excellent Princess would deign to allow his stipend to be paid in
advance, in order that he might do something to help his poor.

Veronica read the letter twice, and judged it. Then she determined to do
something at once, for she knew that the man had written the truth. She
should have liked to send for him, and talk with him of what should be
done; but she could not forget the things he had said about Bosio, and
for that reason