Mrs Briggs broke down. “I didn’t do any harm,” she said. “I only did what I was told. I obeyed the others who were in greater authority than I was.” She buried her face in her apron and sobbed. “That’s right, Mrs Briggs,” Wise said kindly; “tell the truth, and I promise you it will be far better for you in the long run, than to make up any falsehoods.” “Tell me what happened,” the woman said, eagerly, as she wiped her eyes. “Oh, sir, tell me? Did Mrs—Mrs Varian’s little girl live to grow up?” “Mrs _Varian’s_ little girl!” Wise repeated with a strange intonation and a shrewd shake of his head. “Yes, Mrs Varian’s little girl,” the woman insisted obstinately. “They took the child away when it was four weeks old, Mrs Varian was quite well and happy then.” “Of course she was,—but, were you happy?” “Why not?” The words were defiant, but Mrs Briggs’ face showed an involuntary fear. “Come now, Mrs Briggs, tell me the whole story and you will get off scot free. Keep back the truth or any portion of the truth, and you will find yourself in most serious trouble. Which do you choose?” “Where are the Varians? Where is Mr Varian?” “Mr Varian is dead. You have me to reckon with instead of him. Oh, I begin to see! Was it Mr Varian’s scheme?” “Yes, it was. I told you I had no choice in the matter.” “Because he paid you well. Now, are you going to tell me, or must I drag the story from you, piece-meal?” “I’ll—I’ll tell.” “Tell it all, then. Begin at the beginning.” “The beginning was merely that the Varians were spending the summer here in a little cottage over on the next street to this. Mrs Varian was expecting a confinement but hoped to get back to the city before it took place. However, she was not well, and Mr Varian brought her to the hospital for consultation and treatment. I was her nurse, and I came to know her well, and—to love her. She was a dear lady, and as her first babies had died in infancy she was greatly worried and anxious lest this new baby should be sickly or, worse, should be born dead. “Mr Varian was the most devoted husband I ever saw. He put up with all his wife’s whims and tantrums,—and she was full of them,—and he indulged and petted her all the time. He was quite as anxious as she for a healthy child, and when they discovered that she must remain here for her confinement, he sent to town for all sorts of things to make her comfortable and happy. “Well,—the baby was born,—and it was born dead. Mrs Varian did not know it, and when I told Mr Varian, he was so disappointed I thought he would go off his head. “Now there was another case in the hospital that was a very sad matter. It was Mrs Curtis. She, poor woman, was confined that same night, and her baby was born, fine and healthy. But she didn’t want the child. She was so poor she scarce could keep soul and body together. She had three little children already and her husband had died by accident only a month before. How to care for a new little one, she didn’t know.