Lucy rose and came to where the poor woman sat struggling with her emotion. It was not a case for words. She went and stood by her, crying softly, while Mrs. Russell leaned her crape-laden head upon the girl’s breast and sobbed. All her defenses were broken down. She grasped Lucy’s arm and clung to it as if it had been an anchor of salvation. “And I came,” she gasped, “to say, if you would really be so kind--oh, how can I ask it!--as to _lend_ us the money you spoke of--only to _lend_ it, Miss Trevor, till something better turns up--till Bertie gets something to do. He is willing to do anything now; or till Mary finds a situation. It can’t be but that we shall be able to pay you, somehow-- And there is the furniture for security. Oh, I don’t know how to ask it. I never borrowed money before, nor wished for anything that was not my own. But, oh, Lucy, if you really, really have it to do what you like with-- The best people are obliged to borrow sometimes,” Mrs. Russell added, looking up wistfully, with an attempt at a smile, “and there is nothing to be ashamed of in being poor.” But this was an emergency for which Lucy’s straightforward nature was not prepared. She had the power to give she knew; but to lend she did not think she had any power. What was she to do? She had not imagination enough to conceive the possibility that borrowing does not always mean repaying. She hesitated and faltered. “Dear Mrs. Russell, it is there for you--if you would only take, take it altogether!” Lucy said, in supplicating tones. “No,” said her visitor, firmly, “no, Lucy, do nor ask me. You will only make me go away very miserable--more miserable than I was when I came. If you will _lend_ it to me I shall be very glad. I don’t hesitate to say it will be a great, great service--it will almost be saving our lives. I would offer to pay you interest, but I don’t think you would like that. I told Bertie so, and he said if I were to give you an I-- O--U-- I don’t understand it, Lucy, and you do not understand it, my dear; but he says that is the way.” “There was nothing about lending, I think, in the will,” said Lucy, very doubtfully; “but,” she added, after a moment, with a sudden gleam of cheerfulness, “I will tell you how we can do it. I am to be quite free to do what I please in seven years--” “In seven years!” poor Mrs. Russell’s face seemed to draw out and lengthen, as she said these words, until it was almost as long as the period, though it did not seem easy to see by what means the fact could affect her present purpose. Lucy nodded very cheerfully. She had quite regained her courage and satisfaction with her fate. “I will _give_ it you for seven years,” she said, going back to her seat, “and then you can give it me back again; there will be no need for I-- O--what? or anything of the sort. We will be sure to pay each other, if we remember--”