Then she hurried away to bury her dead, little thinking in what way Beatrix Gordon would claim her promise.
[CHAPTER II.]
"Come in," said Laurel, faintly, in answer to the sharp rap at the door.
The cheap, plain funeral was over, and the orphan sat alone in the deepening twilight in the shabby little room, now invested with a somber dignity all its own since the presence of death had so lately been there.
Laurel's head was bowed upon her hands, and tears coursed slowly, each one a scalding drop of woe, down her white cheeks.
The door opened, and the woman from whom Mr. Vane had rented the two shabby little rooms entered abruptly. She was a coarse, hard-featured creature, devoid of sympathy or sensibility. She looked coldly at the weeping girl.
"The rent's due to-day, Miss Vane," she said, roughly. "Have you got the money to pay it?"
Laurel silently counted over the contents of her slim purse.
"Here is the money, Mrs. Groves, and it is the last cent I have on earth," she said, drearily, as she placed the silver in the woman's greedy outstretched hand.