“Yes, it’s a bad business. I don’t know what they can do! A curate with four children can’t be expected to have means to send his wife abroad at a moment’s notice.” “But can nothing be done?” “Well, Mr. Coombes has been talking to the Vicar, and they are making a collection. Fifty pounds will be wanted, and so far they have fifteen towards it. I’m afraid they will never raise it. It’s a pity, because the doctor said she was a hopeful case—probably the winter away would save her life. But I must be going, Miss Colbourne; my husband will be wondering where I am. You do look cold. Why don’t you have your fire lit again?” Her visitor gone, Miss Colbourne did not settle to her work again. Usually she did not find time for all she wanted to accomplish, but to-night she tried one thing after another without success. At last, flinging her books on one side, she fell to pacing up and down the room. After a while she opened the secret drawer in her desk, and taking out an old-fashioned long silk purse, she turned out its contents—five ten-pound notes and a little loose gold. She weighed them in her hands—the savings of ten years. Often had she sat without a fire and gone without a hot meal to add to that hoard. It explained why she wore a threadbare jacket and shabby bonnet. With it she thought to turn the dream of her youth into reality. Once and again she had been on the point of visiting Italy, but illness and bereavement had barred the way. Now she was so near attainment that she had planned to go after Christmas. She did not lock the money up again, but laid it in a heap on the open desk and resumed her pacing. She knew the Batesons well. She respected and admired the curate and sincerely loved his wife. She knew enough of their circumstances to be sure that, unless help from outside were forthcoming, the doctor’s advice could not be followed. She felt equally sure that Mrs. Coombes was right, and that the necessary sum would not be raised by so poor a congregation. Must the invalid then face the rigours of an English winter? There seemed no other solution to the problem. And yet as she turned in her deliberate walk, there was the little pile of money glittering in the lamplight that offered quite another solution.