of Hester's family
than you had given out. You told me no more than that, and I do not ask
to know more now. But it came to me that they might be bound to Hester
by ties of blood. Surely such a resemblance cannot come by mere chance."

"There are no blood ties there," cried Debby Alden. "I am sure of that.
No, do not misunderstand me. I would not be jealous of them were they
her kin. I should rejoice to know she was of such a family and the
anxiety which I have borne in secret would leave me. No, Hester is not
of the Loraine or Vail blood."

Arising from her place at the grate, she moved away to the end of the
room and stood looking out on the white earth. After a few minutes'
struggle with herself, she came back to where Miss Richards sat, "Eva,
cannot your imagination fill out what I cannot tell? You know there are
conditions of blood and family which bear a stain which generations
cannot eradicate. Poor Hester, innocent and brilliant as she is, bears
that mark. You know why I wish to make her independent and
self-sustaining. Those from which she sprung are beneath her; and she
dare not bring the affliction of her people upon those higher. You see
why I must guard her. She must do as you and I have done--though not for
the same reason. She must be alone all her life. I want you to help me
in this."

"As I have always done, and always will," said her friend. "My
heartstrings cling about Hester, too. I love her almost as much as you
do, Debby Alden."

While the conversation was being carried on, Hester Alden lay in the
room above not wholly unconscious that her aunt and friend were
discussing her. Now and then a word came to her; but she closed her ears
tight to shut out the slightest sound.

"Aunt Debby is talking about my people and I must not hear. She said
once that what she told me was all she cared to have me know, so I must
not hear this."

She shut the sound of voices from her ears. If Aunt Debby did not wish
her to know, that ended it as far as Hester's desire to know was
concerned.

Debby Alden was troubled in her thoughts about Hester all that winter
term; for she knew that something lay heavy on Hester's heart. The girl
continued her studies, took her part in the social life of the seminary,
and played basket-ball with all her energy; yet her heart was sore
because the breach between Helen and her had not been bridged. The
seminary life was fine--but Helen had been the biggest part of it to
Hester.