without a tear in her eyes.

Their hands unclasped, Adrian Baker hurried to the stairs, ran down
precipitately, and shortly afterward they heard the rolling of the
carriage which bore him away.

Bertha gave her father a gentle smile and then ran to shut herself up in
her room.

As the noise of the carriage wheels died away in the distance, like a
dying peal of thunder, the housekeeper crossed herself, and said:

"He is gone; now we can breathe freely."

Apparently Nurse Juana knew the human heart well, or at least Berta's
heart, for three months had passed since Adrian Baker had sailed for New
York, and not once had she been able to surprise a tear in the eyes of the
girl to whom she had taken the place of a mother. Berta apparently felt no
grief at his absence.

It is true that during these three months of absence a letter had been
received from New York, in which Adrian Baker said to Berta all that is
said in such cases; it was a simple, tender and earnest letter, that did
not seem to have been written three thousand miles away; on the other side
of the great ocean in which the most ardent and the most profound passions
are wrecked. It is true that this letter was answered by return of mail,
and that it traversed the stormy solitudes of the sea full of promises and
hopes.

It is also true that Berta put away Adrian Baker's letter carefully,