"My dear, I am happy to have you come—I am glad to be helpful to any one, as opportunity offers," the elder lady graciously replied.
Helen lifted a glance of surprise to her. She had not hinted that she was unhappy, or needed help of any kind.
Mrs. Everleigh met her look with her winning smile.
"Your voice told me over the phone, dear, that you were in trouble," she said. "Now, open your heart to me. What can I do for you?"
Her tone was so kind, her smile and manner so loving, Helen's forced composure melted like wax in the sun, and a sudden flood of tears rendered her utterly helpless to respond for the moment.
The strain and excitement of the last forty-eight hours had been very great, and the loss of two nights' sleep, together with the relentless mental vivisection to which she had since subjected herself, had robbed her of both strength and self-control.
"Dear heart," gently entreated her companion, "let the bitterness all out; then there will be room to pour in the balm and oil."
She leaned back in her chair, and sat silent, with bowed head and averted eyes, until Helen's weeping ceased, and she began to regain something of her customary self-possession.
"Dear Mrs. Everleigh," she at length said, as she lifted her tear-stained face to her, "you have not attempted to question or comfort me, and yet it seems to me you have been pouring peace into my heart every moment since I came into this room; my trouble is the old puzzle regarding love and hate."
"How is it a puzzle?"