"I shall not wear myself out, uncle, never fear," she answered in the same low key, smiling up affectionately into his face, "but I cannot be content to stay away all the time, for she seems to cling to me."
"Yes," said Mrs. Brown, coming in; "and Miss Mildred has a wonderfully soothing way with her that quiets her in her fits of restlessness and distress, when nothing else can.
"And I think, Mr. Dinsmore," she added, in a still lower tone, "that it won't be long the poor creature will be troubling any of us. I see death in her pale, sunken face now."
Mildred stole out into the hall, and her uncle following her, found her wiping away the fast-falling tears.
"O, uncle," she sobbed, "what do you think I have discovered? that she has been wearing herself out sitting up half the night, for months past, writing articles and stories for newspapers and magazines, in order to earn a little more for the support of that mother and sister."
"Indeed!" he said, looking much concerned. "I am very sorry; I would rather have added a hundred dollars to her salary, if I had known it. But unfortunately it is too late now."
"I can't help feeling angry at them!" cried Mildred; "why didn't they bear their own burdens according to the Bible command? And then that brother—and husband! Oh, it is too bad!"
"Have you learned any more of her story?" he asked.
"No, sir; she hardly speaks at all except that I have heard her murmur to herself in, oh, such a heart broken way, 'My darling, my darling, oh, my darling?' and two or three times she has whispered to me, 'Tell me about Him—that Friend.'"
"That Friend? whom does she mean?"