Her warm-hearted friend's eyes grew moist as she looked intently and understandingly into the clouded and beautiful face. In one of her pretty impulses that often broke through her polite restraint she exclaimed, "Millie, you are a true woman. Please pardon my familiarity, but I can't tell you how much you interest me, how I respect you, and--and--how much I like you." "Nor can I tell you," responded Mildred earnestly, "how much hope and comfort you have already brought me." "Come," said Miss Wetheridge cheerily, "we will go down to the rooms of the Young Women's Christian Association at once. We may get light there. The thing for you to do is to master thoroughly one or more of the higher forms of labor that are as yet uncrowded. That is what I would do." While she was preparing for the street she observed Mildred's eyes resting wistfully on an upright piano that formed part of the beautiful furniture of her private sanctum. "You are recognizing an old friend and would like to renew your acquaintance," she said smilingly. "Won't you play while I am changing my dress?" "Perhaps I can best thank you in that way," answered Mildred, availing herself of the permission with a pleasure she could not disguise. "I admit that the loss of my piano has been one of my greatest deprivations." Miss Wetheridge's sleeping-apartment opened into her sitting-room, and, with the door open, it was the same as if they were still together. The promise of thanks was well kept as the exquisite notes of Mendelssohn's "Hope" and "Consolation" filled the rooms with music that is as simple and enduring as the genuine feeling of a good heart. "I now understand how truly you lost a friend and companion in your piano," said Miss Wetheridge, "and I want you to come over here and play whenever you feel like it, whether I am at home or not."