"I hope there's nothing wrong?--that the Ogre has been giving you no further trouble?" I did manage to gasp out something. "No--thank you--he's--been--giving--us--no--trouble." He apparently concluded that it might be advisable to seem not to notice that there was anything strange in my demeanour. "I am the bearer of good news."--We wanted some, badly. I know I did.--"You have been good enough to allow me to examine somewhat closely into the condition of your affairs."--We had been good enough to allow him! As if it had not been perfectly splendid of him to do it; he being, not only Betty's cousin, but a barrister.--"Your mother appears to have managed everything herself--and very well she seems to have done it too; but the fact makes it somewhat difficult for a stranger to probe quickly to the bottom of everything; and the Ogre's proceedings have not made it easier. But so far as I have gone, I have ascertained beyond all doubt that instead of being in fear of the workhouse--as someone suggested--you are very comfortably off. As time goes on I shall not be surprised if you find yourselves--financially--in a still better position."--It was a consolation to know so much. That hundred pounds would not be wanted--"By-the-bye, I saw my cousin Hetty yesterday, and she entrusted me with what she called a note to you. I fancy you will find that it extends to about six sheets of paper." It is not necessary to tell me it was ill-manners; I knew it was; but I felt that I must do something to avoid meeting his eyes; so I opened the envelope, and started reading Hetty's letter then and there. The opening words seemed to leap up off the paper and strike me in the face. "My very own dearest little Molly!"--she always would call me little, though I was every bit as big as she was--"What do you think? You remember Miss Winston? She's starving! And she's not only starving, but she's dying of consumption. I've only just found it out by the merest accident. It seems that she's living in a little cottage at a place called Angmering, somewhere near Worthing. She's been ill ever so long, and able to do no work, or earn a penny. So that she has absolutely no money to buy herself food, or even to pay her rent. If someone doesn't come to her help soon they'll have to take her to the workhouse--to die! Poor Miss Winston! And she such a darling! Isn't it dreadful to think of?"