d breathless with excitement. "What is it? What has
happened?" she cried.

"Hush--h! Come in. Shut the door. No one must hear. The
Consolidated Companies have failed. They have robbed their depositors."

"Well, George? What have we---- Oh, Lucy!"

"Yes, Lucy! She is ruined! She has nothing. It was all there." He
paced up and down, hoarse with agitation and triumph. "She mustn't
know it, mother, until she is safe in another home."

"Another home?" "Oh, surely you understand! Here--if she will come.
Poor little girl! She has not a dollar! I am getting a big salary. I
can work for you all. My God! I will have her at last! Unless----
Perhaps she won't come! Mother, do you think she will come?" He
caught her arm, his jaws twitched, the tears stood in his eyes, as when
he used to come to her with his boyish troubles.

"How can I tell?" said Frances. "Go and ask her."

CHAPTER XX

In July Miss Vance returned unexpectedly. Her charges had tired of
travel, and turned their backs upon India. She dropped them in
Chicago, and came to Weir for rest. The evening of her arrival she
strolled with Frances through the park, listening to the story of
George's sudden wooing, and the quiet, hurried wedding.

"It had to be quiet and hurried," said Mrs. Waldeaux, "in order to keep
her ignorant of her change of fortune. He took her to the Virginia
mountains, so that no newspapers could reach her. They are coming
to-morrow. It won't trouble her to hear that her money is gone when
she is here with us all, at home. As for me," she went on excitedly,
"I am beginning to advertise the summer resort. I must put my hand to
the plough. I don't mean that she shall miss any comfort or luxury as
George's wife."

Miss Vance looked at her. "Frances, give up your planning and working.
Let George work for you and his wife," she said curtly. "It is time for
you to stop and rest."

"And why should I stop and rest, Clara?" said Frances, amazed.

"Surely you know, dear. You are not as young as you once were. Your
eyes are weak, and your hearing is a little dulled, and----"

Frances threw out her hand eagerly. "You think I am growing old! It
is only my eyes and ears that are wearing out. _I_ am not deaf nor
blind," she said earnestly. "_I_ am not old. I find more fun and
flavor in life now than I did at sixteen. If I live to be seventy, or
a hundred, I shall be the same Frances Waldeaux still."

Clara