door was opened, and a tall, slender young girl stood on the threshold, looking inquiringly into the stranger's face. "I am looking for the home of David Moore and of his daughter Bernardine," said Miss Rogers. "This is David Moore's home, and I am his daughter Bernardine," said the young girl, courteously, even though the stranger before her was illy clad. "Won't you invite me in for a few moments?" asked Miss Rogers, wistfully. "I heard what some one, your father probably, said about not wanting to see any one just now. But I can not well come again, and it is raining torrents outside." "Yes, you may enter, and remain until the storm abates," said Bernardine, cheerfully. "My father would not let any one leave his door in such a storm as this. Pray come in, madame." "It is kind of you to say 'madame' to a creature like me," sighed the stranger, following the girl into the poorly furnished but scrupulously neat apartment. Bernardine smiled. "When I was very young, one of the first lessons my dear mother taught me was to be polite to every one," she returned, quietly. "You look like your mother, my dear," said Miss Rogers, huskily. "I--I was afraid you would not." "Did you know my mother?" exclaimed Bernardine, clasping her hands together, and looking eagerly at the stranger in the coarse, ill-fitting gown. "Yes, my dear; I knew her years ago, when we were both young girls. She looked then as you do now. I was distantly related to her, in fact. I--I was wealthy in those days, but I have since lost all my money, and am now reduced to penury--ay, to want," murmured the shabbily dressed woman. Bernardine sprung forward excitedly. "Surely you can not be the great Miss Rogers of California, of whom I have heard her speak thousands of times?" "Yes, I am Miss Rogers, my dear; great once, in the eyes of the world, when I had money, but despised now, that I am reduced and in want." In a moment Bernardine's arms were around her, and tears were falling from the girl's beautiful dark eyes. "Oh, do not say that, dear Miss Rogers!" she cried. "_I_ love you because my mother loved you in the days that are past. Money does not always bring love, and the loss of it can not lessen the love of those who owe us allegiance, and who have a true affection for us. Welcome, a thousand times welcome to our home, dear aunt, if you will let me call you that; and--and I shall use my influence to have father invite you to share our humble home forever, if you only will." "No, no, Bernardine," replied Miss Rogers. "You have mouths enough to earn bread for." "One more would not signify," declared Bernardine; "and your presence beneath this roof would amply compensate me. I would take a world of pleasure in working a little harder than I do now to keep you here." "Before you give me 

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