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“I shall be glad,” she answered simply, and we went on again.

Mrs. Doane met us at the door. She was a stout, shapeless woman, who would have been ridiculous if she had not been crying. The most singular little pang I have ever experienced went through me at sight of her strained, blue eyes, even now shining full of tears.

“Oh, dear heart. Miss Berrith,” she began at once, after a little bow to me, “the boy’s that sick! The doctor says — oh, Miss Berrith, dear — ”

Miss Berrith seemed to understand the whole matter from these few words. She went directly to Mrs. Doane, and put her arms around her, and her lips against her cheek, and spoke to her as if the poor creature had been a frightened child.

“There — there — there — there.”

It was the most gentle, the most tactful, and the most touching thing, that ever even a