"I am ashamed to offer you so little of it back," said Mrs Lane, "but it was all we could get together in so short a time. You shall have the rest--as we can make it up." "Thanky," said Mrs Jenkles, shortly; but without attempting to touch the coin. There was a pause then, only broken by that weary sound of hard stitching, which tells of sore fingers and aching eyes. "How much more have you got in that purse?" said Mrs Jenkles, shortly. A faint flush of resentment appeared in the mothers face, and the daughter darted an angry look at the speaker. But it died out in an instant, as with a sad, weary action, Mrs Lane reopened the purse, and shook out two more coins beside the half-sovereign upon the table. "Two shillings," she said, faintly; "it is all." Mrs Jenkles sat very still, and the stitching went on like the ticking of two clocks, measuring out the short span of the workers' lives. Mrs Jenkles's eyes were busy, and she saw, as they went over the room, how shabbily it was furnished, how thinly mother and daughter were clothed, how pale and weary was their aspect, while the girl's eyes were unnaturally bright. At last Mrs Jenkles's eyes caught sight of a little white corner in one of the compartments of the open purse, and she gave a hysterical gulp. There was a heap of thick cloth work lying on the table between the two women--the one coarse, unrefined, but comfortably clothed and fed, the other refined and worn to skin and bone--and this heap covered Mrs Jenkles's actions as she rose, walked to the table, and then, without a word, went out of the room. "Has she gone?" whispered Netta, as Mrs Jenkles's retreating footsteps were heard. "Yes," said Mrs Lane, with a weary sigh, and she worked on. "It was very, very cruel," said the girl, with her voice shaking, and, in spite of her efforts, a heavy sob would make its way from her breast, and the tears stole down her cheeks. "Mother, darling, what shall we do?" "Hope and wait," was the response, in a low, pained voice. "It was only their due. The husband was very kind." "But the two shillings--for bread," sobbed the girl. "Mamma, does papa know--can he know of this?" Mrs Lane leaned back in her chair, and held one hand over her eyes for a few moments; then, with a gesture to her child to be silent, she once more bent over her work. Netta brushed the tears from her eyes, drew in her breath as if in pain, and worked on in silence for a quarter of an hour, when steps were once more heard upon the stairs. The eyes of mother and daughter met, those of the latter in dread; but it was not the heavy step of Barney, nor the snatchy shuffle of his wife, but a quick, decided, solid footstep, and the moment afterwards Mrs Jenkles re-entered the room, and closed the door.