After a time, and when they had fully discussed all phases of this surprising occurrence, Derrice seized a darning-needle and a ball of wool, and made haste to assist her busy neighbour. Then her thoughts reverted to the condition in which she had found her. "Dear Mrs. Negus," she said, softly, "you were crying when I came in. I have never seen tears in your eyes before." "They are not often there," said the little lady, taking off her glasses and wiping them, "but I am sick at heart, dear." "About Mr. Huntington," said Derrice, in a low voice. "Yes, dear." For some time they kept to their work in silence, then Derrice spoke again. "Is there anything we can do?" "I have thought of talking to your husband, but perhaps I had better leave it to you. I'll tell you how things stand. I have made such a mistake,--such a mistake," and her lips quivered so convulsively that she could hardly articulate. "We all make mistakes." "Yes, dear, but this was such a stupid one. I have made mistakes all my life, and I have said, 'Help me, Lord, not to make this one again,' and he does help me, but I tumble into a new one. I will never be fit to live, till I am ready to die." "You dear little woman, you sha'n't talk that way about yourself. Why, the whole town considers you a saint. Didn't you leave your rich family and marry a poor clergyman, and, not content with bringing up your children well, you just set to work to bring up another family of orphans, and have been so sweet and good that everybody helps you, and your relatives give you money--" Derrice stopped, choked by her volubility, and Mrs. Negus ejaculated, "It is nothing, nothing, if I could only help this one soul." "Don't cry, please tell me about it. Perhaps Justin can assist, he is so clever."