"Indeed, miss! Ah, I could see you were in deep sorrow when you came to me. If you had seen her then, Mr. Cameron," and she turned to Bernard, "you would have been sorry. She was that white, and there was such a stricken look upon her poor, dear face. And yet, for all she was in such trouble, she did me good; so that I thanked God for sending her here." "She does me good, too," said Bernard. "That’s why I love her." "Ah, he’s one of the right sort!" exclaimed Mrs. Austin to Doris. "Yes, _I_ think so," said Doris, laughing merrily. Mrs. Austin looked wonderingly at her. "I never heard you laugh like that before, Miss Anderson," she exclaimed. Presently the widow’s two visitors sat at tea in the little parlour. "And how are you getting on, Mrs. Austin?" asked Doris, presently. "You say so little about yourself." "Well, miss, this is such a joyful occasion I don’t like to spoil it----" "Oh, then, I’m afraid you are not doing well?" said Doris, sympathisingly. Tears came into the widow’s eyes; but she dashed them off with a corner of her apron, and tried to smile, as she answered, "I have a lodger in my front rooms, and a young shop-girl rents my attic; but--but----" and she broke down, weeping bitterly. Doris and Bernard tried to comfort her, and at length ascertained, with some difficulty, that the cause of her distress was that her landlord had given her notice to leave the house. "And I’ve lived in it all my life," she said. "I was born in it and brought up here: my dear mother lived with me here till she died, and when my husband made me an offer of marriage I said, ’Yes, if you’ll come and live in my dear home.’ And he did, and was so good to my mother--as good as good could be--always taking off his boots before he went upstairs on the stair carpets, and always lighting the kitchen-fire and making me a cup of tea before he went to his work, till he fell ill of his last illness. He died in the front sitting-room. I had the bed brought down there for him. And there was my Silas, he was born in my front bedroom; and he used to paint his lovely pictures, as you know, miss, in the attic; and he lay down and died, as sweet and calmly as a child, in the back bedroom, ’Going Home,’ he said, ’to the Great Artist, Who will put in the finishing touches to the work that He has made.’ I couldn’t bear to leave this house, with all its memories! It will kill me--I know it will! And my Sam feels almost as bad. ’I shall never drive down this road, mother,’ he says, ’when the old home isn’t yours.’" Mrs. Austin stopped at last for want of breath. "But why does the landlord want to turn you out?" asked Bernard. "You must be such good tenants." "Mrs. Austin is," said Doris. "She pays her rent regularly."