Leo was out for a ride, to Mrs Berens' great delight. "Master's in his study over his sermon, ma'am," said Dally Watlock; "but Miss Mary's in, ma'am." "Yes, Dally, it is Miss Mary I want to see," sighed Mrs Berens; and then, as much out of genuine kindness as with the idea of making a friend at the Rectory: "How pretty, and young, and well you do look, Dally!" "Thank ye, ma'am," said Dally, with a distant bob, but gratified all the same. "Do you know, Dally, I've got a silk dress, a pale red, that would make up so nicely for you? It isn't old, but I shall not wear it any more." Daily's eyes sparkled at pale red silk. "It wouldn't fit you," continued the widow, "but you could make it up nicely with your clever little fingers;" and she compared her own redundant charms with the trim, tight little figure of the maid. "Thank ye, ma'am. May I come for it?" "Yes, Dally, do. Now show me in to Miss Mary." Dally ushered in the widow, and then stood in the passage thinking. "I wouldn't go for it, that I wouldn't, if I was quite sure. I don't want to wear her old dresses. Nice thing for a lady who's going to have a title and live up at the Hall to have to wear somebody else's old silk frocks. "I think I'll go, though," said Dally. "No, I won't, for it's coming to a nice blow up for some one I know, and I'll let 'em all see." "Ah, my dear," said Mrs Berens, entering the room, flower-bearing, and bending down over the invalid with a good deal of gushing sentiment, but plenty of genuine affection. "It's very good of you to come, Mrs Berens," cried Mary, flushing. "And the flowers--for me?" "For you? Yes," said the widow, plumping down on her knees by Mary's couch, and playfully laying the bouquet upon Mary's bosom, and holding it there beneath her chin. "Now it's perfect. It only wanted your sweet rose of a face added to it. My dear, what an angel's face you have!" "Mrs Berens!" cried Mary, flushing more deeply, half annoyed, half amused at her visitor's flattering words; but there was no feeling anything but pleasure at the affectionate kiss pressed upon her lips, and the tender touches of the two well-gloved hands. "There, I've come to have a quiet chat with you," said the widow. "I ought to have been in before, but I have been so unwell, my dear; obliged to send for Dr North." "I'm very sorry, Mrs Berens," said Mary, laying her hand in those of the widow. "I knew you would be, dear; and, oh, I have been so poorly." "But you are better now?" said Mary kindly. "No, no, my dear. I'm a poor, weak, unhappy woman, and--oh! I ought to be ashamed of myself, that I ought, to go on like that when there you are so ill and yet so patient that one never hears a murmur escape your lips." "I don't think I'm very ill, Mrs Berens." "Then I do, my dear; and I shall come and see you more often, for you've done me no end of good. It's like a lesson to me, and I'll never complain any more."