he said, since her
departure for a three-weeks' visit, was not to be endured. He begged
for an immediate answer; and if it were favourable he promised to fly,
ignoring the narrow-gauge railroad, at once to Lakelands.

"And now where does the trouble come in?" asked the miller when he had
read the letter.

"I cannot marry him," said Miss Chester.

"Do you want to marry him?" asked Father Abram.

"Oh, I love him," she answered, "but--" Down went her head and she
sobbed again.

"Come, Miss Rose," said the miller; "you can give me your confidence.
I do not question you, but I think you can trust me."

"I do trust you," said the girl. "I will tell you why I must refuse
Ralph. I am nobody; I haven't even a name; the name I call myself is
a lie. Ralph is a noble man. I love him with all my heart, but I can
never be his."

"What talk is this?" said Father Abram. "You said that you remember
your parents. Why do you say you have no name? I do not understand."

"I do remember them," said Miss Chester. "I remember them too well.
My first recollections are of our life somewhere in the far South. We
moved many times to different towns and states. I have picked cotton,
and worked in factories, and have often gone without enough food and
clothes. My mother was sometimes good to me; my father was always
cruel, and beat me. I think they were both idle and unsettled.

"One night when we were living in a little town on a river near
Atlanta they had a great quarrel. It was while they were abusing and
taunting each other that I learned--oh, Father Abram, I learned that I
didn't even have the right to be--don't you understand? I had no right
even to a name; I was nobody.

"I ran away that night. I walked to Atlanta and found work. I gave
myself the name of Rose Chester, and have earned my own living ever
since. Now you know why I cannot marry Ralph--and, oh, I can never
tell him why."

Better than any sympathy, more helpful than pity, was Father Abram's
depreciation of her woes.

"Why, dear, dear! is that all?" he said. "Fie, fie! I thought
something was in the way. If this perfect young man is a man at all he
will not care a pinch of bran for your family tree. Dear Miss Rose,
take my word for it, it is yourself he cares for. Tell him frankly,
just as you have told me, and I'll warrant that he will laugh at your
story, and think all the more of you for it."

"I shall never tell him," said Miss Chester, sadly. "And I shall nev