"Yes, very suddenly, from an unsuspected heart disease."
After a minute's silence Mrs. Odell resumes, pensively:
"Do you know what I have been wishing, Miss Langton?"
"I cannot even guess," Reine replies, wonderingly.
"I have been wishing that you could take that poor girl's place with me. Not as my maid, of course, but as my friend and companion. I have grown to like you so much since you have been lying here ill and suffering. I have taken care of you as far as my own feeble state would allow. Do you think you could be my friend, child?"
"I am sure I could; that is, if you would not suspect me of designs on your property. I am an heiress, myself," Reine returns, with such naive, innocent pride that Mrs. Odell's pain-drawn lips part in an amused smile:
"You simple child. No one could suspect you of anything. There is no guile in that charming face," she answers kindly.
"Thank you. I shall be very glad of your friendship, and hope I may be of some account to you," Reine murmurs.
"It is settled then," Mrs. Odell says, with evident satisfaction. "You are to be my friend and my guest, the same as a daughter to me, until you leave me to return to America, which time, I hope, may be far off yet, for I shall not like to lose my little friend."
"Do not say that," Reine cries out quickly. "I should hate to grieve you, but I have two dear ones who would grieve to think that I was dead. I must let them know the truth as soon as I can."