Lewis Rand submitted to what was inevitable, and, as Mr. Sharp predicted, interposed no obstacles in the way of a division of the property. He chose to retain in his own share the house and furniture of the late Mr. Rand, foreseeing that the house would rise annually in value. The remainder of the property consisted partly of real estate, but mainly of stocks and bonds. This rendered the division easy. At the end of ten days, Mr. Sharp was in a situation to deliver to his client the title to three houses situated in different parts of the city, and a quarter of a million in bank and railway shares.

Until matters were concluded, Helen desired that the fact of their good fortune should be kept strictly private. Neither Martha nor Herbert suspected that their humble neighbors had fallen heirs to a princely fortune.

One of the three houses referred to was situated in Twenty-second Street. It was nearly new, and thoroughly furnished. Fortunately, it had just been vacated by a family on the point of visiting Europe for a series of years. By Mr. Sharp’s advice, negotiations for the purchase of the furniture were entered into and satisfactorily completed. To this house Helen and her father proposed to remove.

Thanks to Helen’s good care, and the rest which she so much needed, Martha Grey had quite recovered from the attack brought on by excessive labor. She was anxious to resume work, but Helen had succeeded in putting her off.

“I shall certainly begin to-morrow,” said Martha, one evening. “I cannot consent longer to remain a burden upon you.”

“But if I were rich,” said Helen, with a smile.

“That would be different.”

“Well, Martha, I may become rich some day.”

“I hope you will, my dear child.”

“But you don’t expect it. Yet stranger things have happened. Now, Martha, I have a promise to exact of you. When I am rich, will you come and live with me?”

Martha smiled.

“Yes, Helen, when you are rich, I will come and live with you.”

“Mind you don’t forget your promise. I may remind you of it some day.”

“Poor child!” thought Martha. “She means, when her father has completed his invention. I am afraid it will be a long time before that will bring her a fortune.”

The next morning, Martha was sitting in her little rocking-chair, busy at her sewing, when Helen came in with a smile.

“Put down that sewing directly, Martha,” she said. “I have another plan for to-day.”

“But, my dear child, I must disobey you this time. It is quite time that I was again at work.”

“You can put off your sewing for a couple of hours. Mr. Sharp has been kind enough to invite you and papa and myself to take a ride.”

“He is very kind,” said Martha. “I don’t know why he should think of me.”

“Perhaps he thought it would do you good. He knew you had been sick.”

“But I have nothing fit to wear.”

“Am I very richly dressed?”

“No, but——”

“No objections, Martha. Get your bonnet and shawl directly.”

It was a beautiful morning,—an Indian summer day,—the air balmy and sweet as a day in early June. The seamstress yielded not unwillingly to the solicitations of Helen, and was quickly dressed for the drive.

Mr. Sharp was waiting below with a carriage.

“Good morning, Miss Grey,” he said, with his usual suavity; “I am truly glad to see that you have recovered from your illness. You are a little pale yet, but I hope we shall succeed in bringing back the roses to your cheek.”

“I am very much obliged to you for kindly remembering me, Mr. Sharp,” said Martha. “It is a charming day. I assure you I shall enjoy the drive.”

“It seems to me,” thought M’lle Fanchette, looking from her window, “that the Fords are growing extravagant. Such airs as that child puts on, merely because she sings in a theatre! and bless my soul, there’s the seamstress, Martha Grey, too! She’d better be at work. There’s the lawyer, too. It can’t be possible he is paying attentions to Helen Ford. No, she’s too young for that. Or is it Martha Grey? If it’s she, I don’t admire his taste, that’s all. She is most an old woman, and never had any beauty to boast of. (Martha was three years younger than M’lle Fanchette.) Well, well, its a queer world. That Helen may lose her situation by and by,—I’m sure, I don’t think much of her singing,—and then we sha’n’t have such gay doings.”

By this time the carriage had driven away, and M’lle Fanchette prepared to go to her shop.

Our party did not at once drive to Twenty-second street, but farther up on the island, through that portion of the city, then wholly unsettled, which is now occupied by the Central Park. It was a charming morning. Helen was in the best of spirits, and even Mr. Ford forgot, for the time, his invention, and drank in the sweet influences of the day. To Martha, confined in her room for so long, whose only prospect had been the brick wall opposite, it seemed like a dream of Paradise. Memories of her childhood came back to her, and her eyes involuntarily filled with tears as she thought of that sweet, unforgotten time. Mr. Sharp was in excellent spirits, livelier, and more affable even than usual, and kept up the spirits of the party by his jocular remarks.

At length the carriage stopped.

The driver jumped from his seat, and threw open the door of the carriage.

“We haven’t got home?” said Martha, a little bewildered.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” said Helen; “Mr. Sharp has invited us to look over a house which he has just secured for some friends of his.”

“What a handsome house!” said Martha. “They must be rich people.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Sharp, with an incomprehensible smile, “I assure you that they are quite rich.”

“They wouldn’t object to our visit?” asked Martha, timidly.

“O no, not at all. In fact they gave me permission to bring you here.”

By this time they had entered the hall, and went in first to inspect the parlors. These were furnished in the style appropriate to such a house. To Martha, who had never before entered a house of such pretensions, it seemed very magnificent, and even palatial.

After they had examined the rooms on the lower floor they went up stairs. The chambers were furnished with equal taste. Helen felt that it would take some time to get accustomed to such a style of living after her humble lodgings at Mother Morton’s.

“I like this room very much,” said Martha. It was a broad, spacious chamber with a sunny aspect, very pleasant and home-like in its appearance.

“You would be willing to give up your room at Mrs. Morton’s if you could have this?” inquired Helen.

“If I could have as agreeable neighbors,” said Martha, with a smile.

“Very well,” said Helen, “I will take you at your word. You shall occupy this room.”

“What do you mean, Helen?” asked Martha, in surprise.

“I mean that it only depends upon your own consent to exchange your present room for this.”

“I don’t understand,” said Martha, bewildered.

“Then I will explain. The mistress of this house, who is a friend of Mr. Sharp, is desirous of securing a companion, and will take you if you will come.”

“Perhaps she may not like me.”

“I think there is no doubt on that point; do you papa?”

“No, I believe not,” said Mr. Ford.

“Then you will consent, Martha. You will be secure against want, and will have every comfort provided you.”

“It will be great good fortune for me,” said Martha. “But I cannot bear the thought of being separated from you, Helen.”

“You may learn to like the lady I refer to as well as me.”

“Never!” said Martha, with emphasis.

“Make no rash promises,” said Helen, “I shall be very much disappointed if you do not.”

“If I could see this lady.”

“So you shall. You will find her in the next room.”

More mystified than ever, Martha accompanied Helen into the next room. There was a large pier glass extending from floor to ceiling. Helen led the seamstress up to it, and standing beside her said, “There, Martha, there is the lady who invites you to be her companion.”

“But I see only yourself.”

“Well, and I am the one,” said Helen, smiling.

Then Helen explained to her astonished and delighted auditor the great change that had taken place in her circumstances. No longer obliged to toil for her daily bread, she would henceforth live in affluence.

“God has been very good to us, Martha,” she said, in conclusion. “I hope we shall not forget, in the happiness of the present, the poverty of the past. I hope we shall use His gift as He would have us.”

“Dear Helen, I am sure you will.”

“And you will come and live with me? I should be very lonely in this large house without a friend to lean upon. Dear Martha, it shall not be my fault if your future is not as sunny as your past has been dark.”

“How much happiness I shall owe you!” said Martha, with grateful tears.

“Hush, Martha,” said Helen, softly. “Do not thank me, for my happiness will be no less.”

That evening the household at Mother Morton’s was electrified by the announcement that Helen Ford had turned out a great heiress, and that Martha Grey was going to live with her. On the morrow Helen and her father transferred their home from their humble lodgings to Twenty-second Street.

“If I had only known,” thought M’lle Fanchette, regretfully, “I might have been in that sickly Martha Grey’s place. But who could ever have imagined that Helen Ford would turn out a rich woman? Well, it’s too late now!”

And M’lle Fanchette had to content herself with this philosophical reflection.