"Ah, that's the way of the world, my dear," said Mrs Barclay with a quiet contented smile, as she drew Claire's head back upon her shoulder, and stroked and patted her cheek. "You don't know my Jo-si-ah. He seems a rough harsh-spoken old money-grubber, but he's the tenderest-hearted, most generous man that ever lived. There, there, you needn't speak. I was only going to finish and say Claire Denville has two true friends here in this house; and as for me, here I am, ready to help you in any way, for I believe in you, my dear, in spite of everything that has been said, as being as good a girl as ever breathed." "Heaven bless you!" exclaimed Claire, nestling to her; "you are a true friend, and I will tell you all my trouble." "That's right, my dear, so you shall, and two heads are better than one. Shall I help you?" "Oh, yes, yes, Mrs Barclay, if you can. I am so helpless, so weak with this new trouble, I don't know what to do." "No; and you'll be driving yourself half crazy, my dear," whispered Mrs Barclay. "Why, I know as well as can be what it is." "You know, Mrs Barclay?" "To be sure I do, my dear. Now, why not let me ask him here some day, and just talk the matter quietly over with him?" "Yes, yes," cried Claire; "but he is so impetuous, and the situation is so horrible." "Not a bit of it, my dear. Of course, he is impetuous. Enough, to make him, hearing such things as he does; but just you let me get him here some day and have a chat with him, and then you see him, and try and understand each other. Never mind about the money, my dear: be poor and happy. Love's better than riches; and the happiness enjoyed by two good people who really care for each other is--well, I don't want to be single." "Mrs Barclay! What do you mean?" "Why, that with all his doubts and distances, Richard Linnell worships you as much as you love him." "Oh, hush, hush, hush!" cried Claire piteously. "Don't talk about that, Mrs Barclay. It is impossible." "It isn't, my dear, and that's flat. You're being cruel to him, and more cruel to your own dear self. Come, now, try and be advised." "Mrs Barclay," cried Claire wildly, "you don't know. My trouble now is far greater than anything about self;" and, clinging to the only friend she seemed to have, she told her all. Mrs Barclay sat with wide-open eyes to the very end, and then, in the midst of the terrible silence, she took out a violently-scented pocket-handkerchief, and wiped the dew from her brow, as she said softly: "Oh, my gracious me!" "It has driven me nearly mad," cried Claire, wringing her hands, "and while I stay here something terrible may have happened. I must go--I must go."