a little pat on the shoulder, and a reassuring, "Nonsense!
I'm always kind. We'll have famous times yet, my dear."

She stood droopingly while his steps went down the stairs and out
through the veranda and ceased upon the grass. Then she opened her door
and crossed the hall to grannie's room and tapped.

"Come in," called the kind old voice. Grannie was in bed, a candle by
her, a book in her hand. She looked, in her nightcap, like a beautiful
old baby. "I had to crawl in here," she said apologetically. "I get so
stiff sitting about. But I don't want to sleep. Draw up the
rocking-chair."

Rose went up to the bedside, and dropped upon her knees, looking up so
that the light could strike her face. It was a wretched face, but she
tried to keep it calm lest it should plead for her.

"My father is going to take me away," she began. "I must pack to-night.
But I want to tell you--"

"Take you away? where?" asked grannie.

"To France."

"Why, I don't like that!"

Rose continued,--

"I am not a good woman. My father has told me so. He has shown me. I
believe it."

"I guess you're tired," said grannie. She laid a motherly hand on the
girl's forehead. Then she smoothed her hair, and tucked a lock behind
her ear. "I guess I wouldn't say such things."

"I was never married to Tom Fulton. I thought it was right not to be.
But I came here and called myself his wife. I am an adventuress. My
father says so."

The old lady sat looking at her with a puzzled glance.

"You blow out the candle," she said then. "It makes it kind of hot. Now
I'll move over, and you climb up here and lie down a spell. I guess
it'll rest you."

Rose put out the candle, and breathed her relief now that even that
light was off her tortured face. Then she did stretch herself on the
bed, and grannie put out a hand and held hers.

"'T won't hurt your skirt, will it?" she asked. "You've got such pretty
clothes. I shouldn't want to have 'em tumbled."

Rose spoke again with her insistent haste,--

"I am an adventuress."

"There! there! don't say that. It's a miserable kind of a word. Did your
father come here to take you back?"

"I don't know why he came--not entirely. But he tells me to go with him.
I must go."

"Do you want to go, dear?"

She hesitated a moment, and they both listened to the sounds of the
summer night.

"I want to be honest," Rose said at last. "It is too late--but I must do
the best I can."

"It isn't ever too late,"