VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER SIX. FRIENDS IN NEED. Did I speak once angrily... ...You woman I loved so well, Who married the other? _R. Browning_. The days were almost at their longest, but it was late enough to be nearly dark one evening, when a fly rattled along the street in Wareborough where the Thurstons lived, and drew up at the curate's door. Frank was out: he had been sent for by a dying parishioner, and had warned his wife he might be detained till late--she had better not sit up for him. Sydney had just made up her mind to act upon this injunction, and was gathering her feminine odds-and-ends about her, previous to going to bed, when the unexpected sound of an arrival startled her in the midst of her housewifely "redding up." She was standing in the middle of her pretty little drawing-room, her work-basket in one hand, the book she had been reading in the other, the lamplight falling softly on her fair, quiet face and deep mourning dress--a peaceful, home-like picture, it seemed to the stranger, who suddenly came in upon the scene. A tall, black figure, with veiled face and shrouding drapery, stood in the doorway. Sydney was not hysterical, so she did not scream, but for a moment or two her heart beat fast, and her breathing seemed short and irregular. Who could it be? "Sydney," said the veiled woman, "don't be startled, dear. It is only I." "Eugenia!" exclaimed the sister, scarcely less startled than before. "Can it be you, Eugenia? Oh, what is wrong? What is the matter?" Before answering, the new-comer turned to the door, said a word to the servant waiting just outside--a word of directions as to paying the driver, for which purpose she handed her purse to Sydney's mystified handmaiden--then, re-entering the room, she carefully closed the door. "Can you take me in for a night, Sydney?" she asked. "You see, I have made sure of your doing so. I had nowhere else to go to." She sat down, as she spoke, on the nearest chair: her attitude told of extreme dejection, her voice sounded faint and weary. "Take you in, dearest? Of course we can, and with the greatest pleasure," said Sydney, warmly. "Only--only--I fear--is there something wrong?" "Yes," replied Eugenia. "At least, I suppose you will call it something wrong. It is just that I have left him--left my husband--for ever." "Oh, Eugenia, oh, dearest sister, do not say so. It is too dreadful to be true. It cannot be so bad as that," exclaimed Sydney, in horrified amazement. "Surely, dear, you don't mean what you say--you cannot!" "I do, though," said Eugenia. "I left Halswood secretly this afternoon, and I never shall return there. It is done now; there is no turning back."