Though Mrs. Harcourt could have gone back to Paris with safety after Basil’s return to New York, she decided to remain in Geneva, and did so through the winter. She engaged teachers for Ben, who devoted several hours daily to study.

He fully appreciated the advantages which he had been unable to secure in Wrayburn, and not knowing how long they might last, made the most of them.

He sometimes asked himself why Mrs. Harcourt lavished so much expense upon him, and, indeed, why she cared to have him with her; for though always kind, she never showed any affection for him. But he was content to accept what she chose to bestow, and though he did not love her, he felt sincerely grateful.

At the hotel he became acquainted with some American visitors, among them General Flint, of Iowa. The general was a typical Western man, of rough and ready manners, but a warm heart. He seemed to be especially interested in Ben, and invited him on several excursions, including one to the Mer de Glace. Mrs. Harcourt had been there in a previous year, and did not care to join the party.

“Edwin,” he said one day, “it’s a great pity you are not a poor boy.”

“Why?” asked Ben, smiling.

“Because you would make your way. You have grit.”

“I am glad you judge so favorably of me, General Flint.”

Ben did not venture to tell his companion that he was really a poor boy, as Mrs. Harcourt would have been displeased to have it known that he was not really her son.

“Were you a poor boy?” asked Ben, after a pause.

“Yes. At your age I had to hustle for a living.”

“You seem to have succeeded.”

“Yes,” answered the general complacently. “I don’t like to boast, but I suppose I may be worth not far from half a million dollars.”

“I think I could live on the income of that,” said Ben with a smile. “If you don’t mind telling me, how did you make your money?” “I made the first thousand dollars in the woods; in fact, as a woodchopper. Then I bought a considerable tract of woodland, agreeing to pay on instalments. I hired men to help me clear it, and became quite a lumber king. I have large tracts of land now, which yield me a handsome revenue. I shouldn’t like to go through those early days of hard work again.”

“I can hardly imagine you chopping down trees, General Flint.”

“Perhaps not, Edwin, but I could do it still,” and the general straightened up his tall and slender form. “Why, I’m only fifty-five, and there is Gladstone, who is at least twenty years older, makes nothing of going out before breakfast and cutting down a tree. Do you remember your father, Edwin?”

“Yes,” answered Ben briefly, for he felt that they were getting on dangerous ground.

“Your mother seems to be pretty well fixed.”

“Yes.”

“No doubt she’s as well off as I am,” suggested the general, who was not without his share of American curiosity.

“She never speaks to me of her property,” said Ben, “but we always travel in first-class style and put up at the best hotels.” “So that I am afraid you will never have to hustle for yourself.”

Ben smiled.

“I don’t know. Stranger things have happened,” he answered.

“Well, if it comes, you’ll always have a friend in Obed Flint.

“Do you think your mother would favor a second marriage?” asked the general, after a pause.

Ben regarded his companion with surprise, but he had such a matter-of-fact manner that he concluded he must be in earnest, strange as the question was.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I never heard her express herself on the subject.”

“You see, I am alone in the world. I was married at twenty-two, but my wife died before I was twenty-five, leaving neither chick nor child. So I have remained unmarried. I have sometimes thought I should like to build a fine house in Davenport (that’s where I live) and have a stylish woman at the head of it. Now, your mother is very stylish; she would do me credit. But perhaps you would object to her marrying again?”

“I should have no right to object, General Flint.” “I don’t know about that. As an only son you might think it was some business of yours. But I’ll say one thing, Edwin—I shouldn’t want any of her money. I should be perfectly willing that she should leave it all to you.”

“If my mother were to marry again, I would as soon have her marry you, as any one.”

“Thank you, my boy,” and the old general clasped the hand of his young companion. “I don’t know as I shall do anything about it, but if I see the way clear, I may propose.”

About a week later, to Mrs. Harcourt’s intense astonishment, General Flint made her a matrimonial offer.

“I don’t want any of your money, ma’am,” he said bluntly. “You can save it all for the boy. I’ve got a good fortune myself, and I mean to live in fine style.”

“Thank you, General Flint,” said the widow. “I own that I am surprised, for I had no idea you had thought of me in any such connection. I hope,” she added smiling, “it won’t be a very serious blow to your happiness if I say that I should rather remain a widow.”

“No, ma’am, I can’t say it will. When a man is over fifty his heart gets a little tough. Still I may say that I admire you very much and look upon you as a very stylish woman. I should like to introduce you to my friends as Mrs. General Flint.”

“Thank you, general. In refusing your proposal I don’t mind assuring you that I am not likely to marry any one else.”

“That’s something. Then you have no personal objection to me?”

“Not at all. I feel very friendly to you. May I ask how you happened to think of marrying me?”

“Well, I took a notion to your son, Edwin, first, and then it was natural that I should think of his mother.”

“Then I am indebted to Edwin for your offer, general?” said Mrs. Harcourt, smiling.

“Well, yes, in a measure. He’s a very fine boy.”

“But you don’t find that he resembles me?”

“No, I can’t see much resemblance.”

“I don’t think there is much.”

“Probably he resembles his father.”

“Very probably. I am not a judge on that point.”

Mrs. Harcourt’s refusal did not alter the friendly relations between Ben and the general. They continued to spend considerable time together. Mrs. Harcourt was so familiar with Switzerland that she did not care to go on many excursions, while he enjoyed them. So he and General Flint were often companions, and the latter extended his stay in Geneva considerably beyond his original intention.

One day in early June on returning rather late in the afternoon from an Alpine jaunt of three days, Ben was received by the servant who admitted him with a grave look.

“Madame, your mother, is very sick, Monsieur Edwin,” he said.

Ben was startled.

“What is the matter?”

“She has had a shock, I think the doctor said.”

“Can I see her?”

“Yes, she wishes to see you.”

Ben hastened to Mrs. Harcourt’s chamber. She was lying on the bed, looking pale, with the drawn face that suggests a paralytic stroke.

“I am very sorry to see you in this state, mother,” said Ben, in a tone of sympathy. “When were you attacked?”

“Yesterday,” said Mrs. Harcourt, speaking with difficulty.

“Are you feeling better now?”

“No, Edwin. I have a presentiment that I shall never be any better.” “Oh, don’t say that!” exclaimed Ben, really grieved, for the thought of all the benefits he had received from this woman, upon whom he had no claim, gave rise to a strong feeling of gratitude.

“I don’t think I am mistaken. I don’t think I shall live long. It is necessary that I should give you some directions in case of the worst. You see my desk upon the table?”

“Yes.”

“If I am taken away, open it and you will find a sealed letter addressed to yourself. You will read it at once, for it contains my instructions to you.”

“I will do so, mother.”

For a week Mrs. Harcourt lingered. She seemed to like to have Ben with her, and he showed the devotion of a real son. But on the eighth day she died very suddenly of heart failure, and Ben found himself alone in a strange land with a heavy responsibility laid upon him.