"Poor lamb! poor stricken lamb!"--the tears would not keep back, and something like a sob came from Stephen as he rose to his feet to go. "Stay, stay," said Mrs. Colston, putting a detaining hand upon him, "the shepherd would be sure to give some particulars as to the lamb's whereabouts and what help it needed. Tell me how it is she is in difficulties about money, and what you would advise her to do." "You can guess how it is she is in difficulties; the worst reason you can think of will be the right one. What I want her to do is to accept my help, but that she refuses to do. If no other way opens up she will accept her sister's help, but she is rather afraid that would anger her father." "Yes, he has rather close ways. How much does she require?" "Three hundred pounds with care would set her upon her feet." In another five minutes the two had parted company outside in the road--Stephen to go home to the lonely farmhouse; Mrs. Colston to go and do shepherd-work. CHAPTER VIII A TWOFOLD PARTNERSHIP Mrs. Colston found Phebe seated at her books, where she had been ever since Stephen had left. A brighter look came into her face when she saw her old friend than had been there since Ralph's disappearance, but it was the brightness of the rainbow, for in a minute or two she was seated on a stool at Mrs. Colston's feet sobbing bitterly. "Poor lamb! You precious dear!" murmured the old friend, gently stroking the brown bowed head and putting her arm lovingly round her neck. She never sought to check the tears, knowing what a safety-valve they are. And who can say tears are either weak or wicked, since "Jesus wept"? "I am so glad to see you; I did so want you to come, but did not like to send for you," Phebe managed at length to say. "I came off the first minute I knew you were in trouble. I only wish I had known before," and she put both arms round her then, and kissed her--just like a mother would have done. "Stephen Collins told me, so I may as well tell you. Do you see these hands?" spreading them out before her. "There's a good deal of strength in them yet. No harm shall come near you that I can keep off. You're not alone in the world, thank God; there's one friend who'll stand by you if no one else does, and her name's Susan Colston!" Phebe looked up with quite a smiling face. "That does sound nice!" she exclaimed. "You are a dear. I cannot tell you how lonely I have been since Ralph went--just as if I were living in a desert; but such a load seems gone now you have come." Then Phebe told her story. Sometimes the words would hardly come for a choking sob; but at last it was spread out before her childhood's friend in all its grim, unromantic baldness. When it was finished Mrs. Colston said: "Well, dearie, I'm not going to say one word against Ralph; I hope I never shall. We will pray for him, that is all: he must just be left to God's dealings."