artineau's face had become extremely lined and anxious.

"My dears," she said, "I fear I've done a rude thing; I fear I've
taken a liberty; but the fact is, you are so alone, poor darlings, and
Mr. Danesfield is an old friend of mine--and--and--I took the liberty
of asking him what your mother's balance was. He said, my dears--my
poor dears--that it was not quite two hundred pounds."

CHAPTER IV.

TO THE RESCUE.

Miss Martineau told her news with considerable agitation. She
considered it a terrible revelation. It seemed to her a very fearful
and disastrous thing that three girls brought up like the Mainwarings,
three girls still almost children, should be thrown on the world
without any means for their support.

Simple and primitive as their lives had been at Rosebury, they still
had been tenderly nurtured and warmly sheltered--no cold blast of
unkindness or neglect had visited them--they had been surrounded ever
by both love and respect. The love came principally from their mother
and from one another, but the respect came from all who knew them. The
Mainwaring girls, in their plain dresses and with their
unsophisticated manners, looked like ladies, and invariably acted as
such.

Soon after making her communication Miss Martineau took her leave; she
hurried home, and sitting down in her dingy little parlor, began to
think.

"No, thank you, Susan," she said to her little maid-of-all-work, "I
shan't want any supper to-night. I have been at tea with my dear
pupils, the Misses Mainwaring. You may bring the lamp presently,
Susan, but not quite yet; it is a pity to waste the daylight, and
there is quite another quarter of an hour in which I can see to knit.
Yes, give me my knitting-basket; I can get on with Widow Joseph's
mittens."

"And, if you please, ma'am," asked Susan, lingering for a moment at
the door, "may I ask how, all things considering, the dear young
ladies is?"

"On the whole, tranquil, Susan--yes, I may say it with confidence; my
dear pupils may be considered in a resigned state of mind."

Susan closed the door after her, and Miss Martineau took up her
knitting. Knitting woollen mittens is an occupation which harmonizes
very well with reflection and while the old lady's active fingers
moved her thoughts were busy.

"Thirty pounds a year," she said softly to herself, "thirty pounds
certain, and a lump sum of two hundred in the bank. Doubtless they owe
some of that for their mother's fune