te a trifle uncertainly, not quite sure what was
expected of her.

The uncertainty lasted only a moment, for, as Jeanette, shy, and
dewy-eyed, held out her arms to her new-found friend, quite suddenly
Lucile knew. Impulsively she threw her arms about the older girl and drew
her close, whispering, softly, "Tell me all you feel you can, Jeanette;
you can trust me."

"Oh, I believe that," said Jeanette, between sharp little intakes of
breath. "Were I not sure of it, I could not so confide in you."

"Thank you," said Lucile, simply.

"You see," the girl continued, "when I was very young I went to live with
M. Charloix, whose will this is," indicating the document.

"And M. Charloix had a son, named after him, Henri," Lucile
supplemented.

The girl drew back in startled wonder, while the bright color flooded her
face. "You know that--but how?" she cried.

"We sailed with M. Charloix from New York to Liverpool," Lucile
explained, striving vainly to keep her voice calm and steady. "He was
searching for you."

"Then you know--he has told you everything," whispered the girl, while
the document in her trembling hand rattled and shook. "Was he--did
he--oh, how did he look?" And she turned pleading eyes upon Lucile.

Lucile's own eyes filled suddenly and she had to choke back the tears
before she could continue. "He looked very wan and sad. You see,
uncertainty like that must be pretty hard to bear."

"Ah, it has not been easy for me," said the girl, softly. "It is a great
thing to renounce all you hold most dear in this world--to fly for refuge
to a spot like this--the long, weary nights--the waiting--the
longing--oh, you cannot know!" and she burst into a passion of weeping.

"You--you're going to make me cry," said Lucile, while a tear rolled down
her face and splashed upon Jeanette's bowed head.

"Ah, I am so foolish! There is no reason for tears--not now," and over
the girl's tear-stained face flashed such a look of radiant joy that
Lucile could only gaze, dumbfounded, at the transformation.

"Wh-what?" she stammered.

"Ah, you wonder, you are amazed--but you will not be when I have told you
all. Look, this is the will--the will for which I have heard Henri is
hunting. But that is not everything--oh, it is nothing! See!" and she
held up the little tin box for Lucile's inspection, feverishly, eagerly.
"In this is a letter from my father--my father, who died when I was so
young and left me to the care of my guar