Mrs. Russell let her handkerchief drop, and stared at Lucy with her poor red eyes. “If you would let me give you part of it-- I can not tell how much would be enough; but if you would tell me, and we could consider everything. It is lying there for the use of--people who are in want of it. I hope you will take some of it. I should be very _thankful_ to you,” said Lucy, with a little nervous emphasis. “It is there only to be given away.” Lucy had felt that it would be a difficult communication to make, but she had no fear of any refusal. She did not venture to look up, but kept her eyes fixed on the carpet, though she was very conscious, notwithstanding, of every movement her companion made. The girl was shy of the favor she was conferring, and frightened in anticipation of the thanks she, would probably receive; if only it could be settled and paid without any thanks! When her own voice stopped she became still more frightened. The silence was unbearable, and Lucy gave an alarmed glance toward the sofa. Mrs. Russell was gasping for breath, inflating her lungs, apparently, in vain, and struggling for utterance. This struggle ended in a hoarse and moaning cry. “Oh, what have I done, what have I done, that it should come to this?” “Mrs Russell! you are ill. Are you ill?” Lucy cried, alarmed. “Oh, what have I done, what have I done, that it should come to this?” she moaned. “Am I a beggar that it should come to this? to offer me money in my own house? money, as if I were a beggar in the street? Oh, don’t say anything more, Miss Trevor, don’t say anything more.” Here she got up, clasping her hands wildly, and walked about the room like a creature distracted, as, indeed, between pride and shame, and wretchedness and folly, the poor woman almost was. “Oh, why didn’t I die! why didn’t I die when _he_ died?” she cried. “It is more than I can bear. I, that was a Stonehouse, and married a Russell, to be treated like a beggar on the street. Oh, my God!” cried the excited creature, “have I not enough to bear without being insulted? I can starve, or I can die, but to be insulted--it is more than I can bear.” Lucy was confounded. She stumbled to her feet, also, in overwhelming distress. She had meant no harm, heaven knows! She had not meant to wound the most delicate feeling. It was a view of the matter which had never occurred to her. “I must have said something wrong--without meaning it,” she faltered. “I don’t know how to speak, but I did not mean to make you angry; oh, forgive me! please forgive me! I mean nothing but--”