Expressing himself humbly gratified at having been of any service in such a cause, Mr. Hoyle bowed to the assembled Board, carefully avoiding two pairs of eyes--a pair of lazy brown ones and a pair of piercing grey ones, and, with a long sidelong look at the sullen, averted countenance of Frederick Spenceley, took his departure. A fortnight passed. The middle of May had come and gone. Every day the distress grew more tremendous--the efforts needed to meet it more strenuous and unceasing. The whole time and the whole energies of those who had begun the work were gradually absorbed into it. Still the cruel war raged on across the Atlantic, and Mid-summer and Famine advanced hand in hand, with long, devouring strides. CHAPTER IX. ‘FOR A PRICE.’ A committee meeting had been called for a certain Tuesday afternoon. An appeal for help had been sent out to all the persons of any position in the neighbourhood. Canon Ponsonby’s name headed the list with a donation of fifty pounds, which was more to him than fifty hundred would have been to Mr. Spenceley. Some half-dozen large manufacturing firms followed with sums varying from one to five hundred pounds. ‘S. M., five hundred pounds.’ ‘Mrs. Mallory, five pounds.’ Mrs. Mallory had so many calls upon her charity just then, she said, she really could not afford more, or the yearly sum she set apart for such purposes would be exceeded. ‘The yearly distress to be relieved is also considerably exceeded,’ murmured her son, as he took possession of the contribution. ‘H. v. B., five pounds.’ ‘Our money!’ as Mrs. Mallory indignantly observed to herself, and tossed her head angrily. ‘H. S., ten pounds.’ This stood for Helena Spenceley, who delivered the money over to Sebastian with a kind of chuckle. ‘You would never guess how I got it,’ said she, with a broad smile of triumph and satisfaction. ‘Begged, borrowed, or stolen?’ he asked, smiling too. ‘Neither one nor the other. Nor yet was it a free gift, nor yet did I find it at the back of a drawer, having quite forgotten that I had put it there, as I once before did with a five-pound note. Oh, you will never know how I got it.’ And she laughed. But Sebastian learnt from Adrienne how she had come by the money. ‘Her father would not give her a penny,’ said she, ‘because he had made up his mind with his narrow income to sacrifice twenty-five pounds, which he was sadly in need of himself, so what do you think she did?’ ‘Such knowledge is too wonderful for me.’ ‘She sold a lot of her dresses and things. I expect the poor girl has been awfully cheated,’ Adrienne added, a touch of real feminine feeling and regret in her tone. ‘She said she had left herself only half a dozen--and fancy getting no more than ten pounds for the rest of her wardrobe--it is awful to think of. But the money was there, she said, and she could not resist it. She is as pleased as if it had been a hundred.’ ‘Like somebody else’s,’ suggested Sebastian. ‘Somebody else’s?’