Marion Gilbert happened to be near, and witnessed the by-play. All the evening she had watched Gertrude with a hope to be able to relieve her; but circumstances had kept them apart. Now she stepped forward, and, hiding Mrs. Dudley's blanched face from view, tried to interest her in conversation. She saw with what extreme difficulty the young wife kept back her tears; and soon managed to draw her into a corner where they could chat at leisure. At some inconvenience to herself; she staid with Gertrude until the last guest had departed; and then recommending a late breakfast kissed the poor child good night. "I'm so weary, I can scarcely stand," Gerty said, as her husband was putting out the lights. "I am so glad it's over." There was no answer, and understanding by this time that Paul was not pleased, she climbed up the staircase, and throwing off her dress, sank on the couch and soon fell into a heavy slumber. The first sound she heard was the breaking of glass and starting up, to her surprise found it was broad day light. There was loud, angry talking in the hall; and running to the door Gertrude heard her husband dismissing Bridget and threatening to have her prosecuted for the damage she had done. This was a severe trial; for though wholly ignorant, Bridget had proved more sympathizing and faithful than any of her predecessors. She knew it was no use for her to plead the girl's cause; and while she was wondering what she should do for breakfast the outer door shut, and Paul had gone. A timid knock soon after was followed by the girl's entrance. "I'm going, ma'am; and it's sorry I am for the sake of ye, for any baby can see ye're not fit to be left alone with the like of himself. Wherever are yer friends that they don't come, and take ye away before he kills ye intirely." "Don't Bridget; don't talk so." "Feth ma'am, and don't I know that; but sure there's many a husband has killed the girl he's vowed to love by his hard words. Oh, ma'am! I've seen throuble meself; and I knows how to sympathize with ye." "I know you've been kind, Bridget. I'm very sorry you're going. I don't know what I shall do." "Put ye're trust in the Lord, ma'am; that's all I can tell ye. Shall I give ye a bit of my life, ma'am. It'll show yer how the good Lord carries his children through a dale of throuble." "Yes, Bridget, I should like to hear it; but I'm so faint. I've taken nothing since yesterday morning." "I'll run down, and make ye a cup of tea. It's better for us not to mind the coffee at all, as himself is away." In a short time she returned with tea and a cracker, which Gertrude swallowed with a relish. Then leaving the cup standing on the table, she began: