“Oh! Mr. Hepburn,” she said, “if this were true! What should I and my poor children do if this were true? I should have nothing--nothing but my pension and the two children to bring up--boys, too! And oh! my poor little Tommy! my little heir! What should I do?” It was on Hepburn’s lips to say that she would still have her husband’s portion, the inheritance of the younger son, to fall back upon; but to console this gentle, disconsolate creature with mercenary suggestions of eight thousand pounds, seemed a miserable thing to do. He took her hand instead, and comforted her, and bid her not to fear. “There are many that would be but too proud, too happy to be of use to you,” he said. “Everything I have in the world--everything! though it is not much--” “Oh, Mr. Hepburn! you are too good,” murmured Matilda, and then she proceeded with her complaint. “Verna would leave me, I know,” she said, “Verna has no feeling for anything above account-books. You saw how she kept adding them up, even when you were telling me of this dreadful report. That is her sphere--fussing about a house, and having the control of the bills and all that. I have often said, what a pity it was that we were not quite poor, for then Verna might have gone out as a housekeeper and been happy. We never were rich,” she added, with that frankness that went to Hepburn’s heart, “but still ladies can’t do such things. It is a pity, though I don’t think I ever could be--a governess, for instance, though I may perhaps require to do something for my poor children. Oh, Mr. Hepburn! don’t be too kind to me. Don’t take my hand and that. It isn’t--nice; for you know I am not a young girl, as some people might think, to look at me; but a poor widow--with no one to love me.”