She had married, young, a poor artist, who found her in her Swiss home, and was too eager to secure her to perfect himself in his profession. Neither of their families approved of the match, and they had made a foolish, runaway affair of it, coming to this country full of hope, but without a friend in it. "My mother hadn't any mother, or brothers, or sisters; and her father wasn't her own father, and wasn't good to her." Mrs. Grey looked the girl full in the face and smiled. "You think that makes a difference?" she said. "I do, Madam. My mother never did anything wrong in her life." What a firm young head was set on those young shoulders! It is not easy to describe, in words, the impression made by both mother and daughter. "And how did you get on?" Mrs. Grey inquired, turning once more to Mrs. Haydon. "Well, Madam, we got the punishment our self-will deserved. We knew no one in this country. My husband worked hard, but had no friend to encourage him. He sold pictures enough to keep us alive and, at times, comfortable. But we lived from hand to mouth, and if we had sickness, things went very hard with us. Then he began to get disgusted with his work. He would begin a picture that looked beautiful to me, but would throw it aside unfinished. And it ended just as such stories always end. He died, and I was left alone with my little ones to support myself as best I could." "You must have married _very_ young?" "Madam, we were a boy and a girl, nothing more. The laws of my country compel education. I was at school when this folly took place, and when I was left a widow, my position was a very embarrassing one. I was not capable of teaching because I had left school so young; and yet I had come of a good family and been used to certain comforts. For a time I supported myself by embroidery, but this life of confinement and deprivation of sleep--for I had to work till midnight--injured my health; and a physician, whom I consulted a few weeks ago, told me that, what with over-work, poor food, want of exercise, and living in a sphere so different from that in which I was born, I should soon break down completely." "What do you propose to do, then? Apply to your own or your husband's family?" "Madam, they return my letters unread. No! I have made up my mind, and Margaret will make up hers when she sees that there is but one way of saving her mother's life. It is a poor life, not worth saving in itself; but it is everything to her. We have supported ourselves with needlework up to the present time, and the work I finished last night will bring in enough to give me a few days' rest, and we shall then go out to service." "To _service_!" cried Margaret. "My mother go out to service!" "Yes, my child. The bad air and the midnight work are killing me. The doctor says so. If we can get a situation in a gentleman's family, and get good air and good food, we yet may be well and happy." "And your other children?"