"Why, my Lottie, what has come to you?" said her husband, touched and alarmed by this rare show of feeling "What is it, dear? You wish we were rich, so do not I; I am quite content. I go among so very much poorer people than myself, Lottie, that it always seems to me I have far more than my fair share of life's good things; but, at any rate my Lottie, crying won't make us rich, so don't waste your strength over it." "I can't help it sometimes, Angus; it goes to my heart to see you shivering in such a great-coat as you have just taken off, and then I know you want better food, and wine; you are so tired this moment you can scarcely speak. What a lot of good some port wine would do you!" "And what a lot of good, wishing for it will do me! Come Lottie, be sensible; we must not begin to repine for what we have not got, and cannot get. Let us think of our mercies." "You make me ashamed of myself, Angus. But these thoughts don't come to me for nothing; the fact is--yes, I will tell you at last, I have long been making up my mind. The truth is, Angus, I can't look at the children--I can't look at you and see you all suffering, and hold my peace any longer. We are poor, very--very--dreadfully poor, but we ought to be rich." "Lottie!" Such a speech, so uttered, would have called for reproof from Angus Home, had it passed the lips of another. But he knew the woman he had married too well not to believe there was reason in her words. "I am sorry you have kept a secret from me," he said. "What is this mystery, Lottie?" "It was my mother, Angus. She begged of me to keep it to myself, and she only told me when she was dying. But may I just tell you all from the very beginning?" "Yes, dear. If it is a romance, it will just soothe me, for though I am, I own, tired, I could not sleep for a long time to come." "First, Angus, I must confess to a little bit of deceit I practised on you." "Ah, Lottie!" said her husband playfully, "no wonder you cried, with such a heavy burden on your soul; but confess your sins, wife."