"He will be glad enough to seek you again when you are known as my heiress," declared Miss Rogers, patting softly the bowed, dark curly head.
"No, no!" cried Bernardine; "if a man can not love you when you are poor, friendless and homeless, he can not love you with all the trappings of wealth about you. I say again, I thank you with all my heart and soul for what you are disposed to do for me; but I can not accept it at your hands, dear friend. Build churches, schools for little ones, homes for the aged and helpless, institutions for the blind, hospitals for those stricken low by the dread rod of disease. I am young and strong. I can earn my bread for many a long year yet. Work is the only panacea to keep me from thinking, thinking, thinking."
"Nay, nay," replied Miss Rogers; "let me be a judge of that. I know best, my dear. It will be a happiness to me in my declining years to have you do as I desire. The money will all go to you, and at the last you may divide it as you see fit. Do not refuse me, my child. I have set my heart upon seeing you the center of an admiring throng, to see you robed in shining satin and magnificent diamonds. I will not say more upon the subject just now; we will discuss it—to-morrow. I shall go down and join the feasters and revelers; my heart is happy now that I have found you, Bernardine. Early to-morrow morning we will let Mrs. Gardiner and her daughter Margaret into our secret, and they will make no objection to my taking you quietly away with me—at once. Do not let what I have told you keep you awake to-night, child. I should feel sorry to see you look pale and haggard to-morrow, instead of bright and cheerful."
With a kiss, she left Bernardine, and the girl stood looking after her long afterward, wondering if what she had just passed through was not a dream from which she would awaken presently.
The air of the room seemed to stifle Bernardine. Rising slowly, she made her way through one of the long French windows out into the grounds, and took a path which led in the direction of the brook around which the alders grew so thickly.
She was so preoccupied with her own thoughts, she hardly noticed which way her footsteps tended. All she realized was, that she was walking in the sweet, rose-laden grounds, away—far away—from the revelers, with the free, cool, pure air of Heaven blowing across her heated, feverish brow.
"An heiress!" She said the words over and over again to herself, trying to picture to herself what the life of an heiress would be.
If she had been an heiress, living in a luxurious, beautiful home, would Jay Gardiner have deserted her in that cruel, bitterly cruel, heartless fashion?
She never remembered to have heard or read of the lover of a wealthy heiress deserting her. It was always the lovers of poor girls who dared play such tricks.
How shocked Jay Gardiner would be when he heard that she was—an heiress!