would not go unless to meet her son.  The day before I planned going to Boston, or rather the night before, she entered my room while I was asleep, took every particle of my clothing, with the exception of one house dress and a pair of slippers, and locked me in.  They kept me there for a week, and I wished that I had died there, for when they came to me it was to tell me that Jones was dead, and I was the cause of it.  I who loved him so!” And the girl’s eyes filled with tears.

“What was the cause of his death?” asked Quincy.

“He was young, healthy, and careless,” answered Lindy.  “He took a bad cold and it developed into lung fever.  Even then he claimed it was nothing and would not see a doctor.  One morning he did not come to the office, his clerk went to his room, but when the doctor was called it was too late.  It was very sad that he should die so, believing that I had refused to go with him, when I would have given my life for him.  He loved me till death.  He left me all his money, but in his will he expressed the wish that I would never accept a dollar from his parents.  So now you see why Mrs. Putnam does not make me her heiress.  You think I hate Miss Pettengill because she is going to give it to her, but truly I do not, Mr. Sawyer.  What I said when you came in I really meant, and I hope you will be happy, Mr. Sawyer, even as I hoped to be years ago.”

Quincy had been greatly interested in Lindy’s story, and that feeling of sympathy for the unhappy and suffering that always shows itself in a true gentleman rose strongly in his breast.

“Miss Putnam,” said he, “I have wronged you both in thought and action, but I never suspected what you have told me.  Will you forgive me and allow me to be your friend?  I will try to atone in the future for my misdoings in the past.”

He extended his hand, and Lindy laid hers in his.

“I care not for the past,” said she.  “I will forget that.  I have also to ask for forgiveness.  I, too, have said and done many things which I would not have said or done, but for womanly spite and vanity.  You see my excuse is not so good as yours,” said she, as she smiled through her tears.

“In what way can I serve you?” asked Quincy.  “Why do you not go to Boston and live?  I could introduce you to many pleasant families.”

“What!” cried Lindy.  “Me, a waif and a stray!  You are too kind-hearted, Mr. Sawyer.  I shall not leave the woman every one but you thinks to be my mother.  When she is dead I shall leave Eastborough never to return.  My sole object in life from that day will be to find some trace of my parents or relatives.  Now it may happen that through Mrs. Putnam or Miss Pettengill you may get some clew that will help me in my search.  It is for this that I wish a friend, and I have a presentiment that some day you will be able to help me.”

Quincy assured her that if it lay in his power any time to be of assistance to her, she could count upon him.