"How is she now, dear Mrs Luttrell--how is she now?" Miss Heathery looked up from out of the handkerchief in which her face was being constantly buried, and it would have been hard to say which was the redder, eyes or nose. Poor Mrs Luttrell, who had come trembling down from the bed-room, caught at her friend's arm, and seemed to stay herself by it, as she said piteously: "I can't bear it, my dear; I can't bear it. I was obliged to come down for a few minutes." "My poor dear," whispered little Miss Heathery, who, excluded from the bed-room, passed her time in hot water that she shed, and that she used to make the universal panacea for woe--a cup of tea--one she administered to all in turn. "You seem so overcome, you poor dear," she whispered; and, helping Mrs Luttrell to the couch, she poured out a cup of tea for her with kindliest intent, but the trembling mother waved it aside. "She begged me so, my dear, I was obliged to come out of the room. The doctor says it would be madness; and it is all Thisbe and he can do to keep her lying down. What am I to say to you for giving you all this trouble?" The tears were running fast down Miss Heathery's yellow cheeks, as she took Mrs Luttrell's grey head to her bony breast. "Don't! don't! don't!" she sobbed. "What have I ever done that you should only think me a fine-weather friend? If I could only tell you how glad I am to be able to help dear Millicent, but I can't." "Heaven bless you!" whispered Mrs Luttrell, clinging to her--glad to cling to some one in her distress; "you have been a good friend indeed!" Just then the stairs creaked slightly, and Thisbe, looking very hard and grim, came into the room. "How is she, Thisbe?" cried Miss Heathery in a quick whisper. Thisbe shook her head. "Seems to be dozing a little now, miss; but she keeps asking for the news." "Poor dear! poor dear!" sobbed Miss Heathery, with more tears running slowly down her face, to such an extent that if there had been any one to notice, he or she would have wondered where they all came from, and have then set it down to the tea. "Sit down, Thisbe," sighed Mrs Luttrell, "you must be worn out." "Poor soul! yes," said Miss Heathery, and pouring out a fresh cup, she took it to where Thisbe--who had not been to bed for a week, watching, as she had been, by Millicent's couch--was sitting on the edge of a chair. "There, drink that, Thisbe," said Miss Heathery. "You're a good, good soul!" As she bent forward and kissed the hard-looking woman's face, Thisbe stared half wonderingly at her, and took the cup. Then her hard face began to work, she tried to sip a little tea, choked, set down the cup, and hurried sobbing from the room.