“Yes,” said Lindy, “she is failing very rapidly physically, but her voice and mental powers are as strong as ever; in fact, I think she is more acute in her mind and sharper in her words than she has ever been before.  Dr. Budd ordered some medicine that I could not get at the Centre, and so there was no way for me except to go to the city for it.  Let me tell you now, Mr. Sawyer, something that I should have been obliged to write to you, if I had not seen you.  I shall stay with Mrs. Putnam until she dies, for I promised Jones that I would, and I could never break any promise that I made to him; but the very moment that she’s dead I shall leave the house and the town forever!”

“Shall you not stay to the funeral?” said Quincy; “what will the townspeople say?”

“I don’t care what they say,” rejoined Lindy, in a sharp tone; “she is not my mother, and I will not stay to the funeral and hypocritically mourn over her, when in my secret heart I shall be glad she is dead.”

“Those are harsh words,” said Quincy.

“Not one-tenth nor one-hundredth as harsh and unfeeling as those she has used to me,” said Lindy.  “No, my mind is made up; my trunks are all packed, and she will not be able to lock me in my room this time.  I shall leave town by the first train after her death, and Eastborough will never see me nor hear from me again.”

“But how about your friends,” asked Quincy, “supposing that I should find out something that would be of interest to you; supposing that I should get some information that might lead to the discovery of your real parents, how could I find you?”

“Well,” replied Lindy, “if you will give me your promise that you will not disclose to any one what I am going to say, I will tell you how to find me.”

“You have my word,” replied Quincy.

“Well,” answered Lindy, “I’m going to New York!  I would tell you where, but I don’t know.  But if you wish to find me at any time advertise in the Personal Column of the ‘New York Herald’; address it to Linda, and sign it Eastborough,” said she, after a moment’s thought.  “I shall drop the name of Putnam when I arrive in New York, but what name I shall take I have not yet decided upon; it will depend upon circumstances.  But I shall have the ‘New York Herald’ every day, and if you advertise for me I shall be sure to see it.”

She then relapsed into silence, and Quincy forbore to speak any more, as he saw she was busy with her own thoughts.  They soon reached the city and parted at the door of the station.  She gave him her hand, and as he held it in his for a moment, he said, “Good-by, Miss Linda.”  She thanked him for not saying “Miss Putnam” with a glance of her eyes.  “I may not see you again, but you may depend upon me.  If I hear of anything that will help you in your search for your parents, my time shall be given to the matter, and I will communicate with you at the earliest moment.  Good-by.”