n a model of virtue. At all events, his last
thought was of his wife; and I rashly promised to see that she did not
suffer on his account. But I can't keep my promise without help."

He paused, not at all sure how Mrs. Costello might feel on the subject;
and whether all that she and her husband had suffered might have
completely embittered her towards the whole family of the murderer.

"Certainly," she answered, "it would be very hard to punish the innocent
for the guilty; and I have heard nothing but good of Mrs. Clarkson."

The doctor felt relieved.

"I believe there is nothing but good that could be told of her," he said
warmly. "I have known something of her for a long time, and there is not
a more decent, respectable woman in the township. It is a mystery how
she ever married that wretched fellow; but after she had married him she
was a good wife, and did what little she could to keep him out of
mischief. What is strangest of all, however, is, that she is almost
heart broken, poor soul, not for his wickedness, but for his death."

"Poor thing! But the circumstances of his death must have made it more
horrible to her?"

"It is a mercy that she does not seem to have understood that. She is
very ill, and seems not to have had time to think yet--except that she
has a vague idea that her children will starve."

"They shall not do that. You shall tell me what to do for them--that is
my affair."

"Thank you. I thought you would feel for her. But the plan I have in my
mind depends chiefly on Mrs. Morton, and I feel that it is asking a
great deal to expect _her_ to do anything."

"It is indeed. I should be almost afraid to speak to her on the
subject."

"If she had had her way, I imagine, matters would never have been so bad
between Doctor Morton and Clarkson. I know she was inclined to be
indulgent--perhaps too indulgent--when this poor woman came to her about
their rent."

"She is very kind hearted. But after her goodness has been so cruelly
abused, how can one expect her now to be even just? But, indeed, you
have not yet told me what you wish her to do?"

"I should like to get permission for the widow and children to stay
where they are through the winter. The poor woman is very ill; she had a
baby born yesterday morning, which is, happily, not likely to live, and
at present, I believe, it is just the thought of her children that keeps
her alive. She can't at the best be moved for some weeks, and I think if