“I think the difference is mainly due to your kindness yesterday.—­To the glass of wine and biscuit when I was faint, and to the early and good dinner, when exhausted nature was crying for food.  I believe, Mrs. Wykoff”—­and Mary’s eyes glistened—­“that if you had not thought of me when you did, I should not be here to-day.”

“Are you serious, Mary?”

“I am, indeed, ma’am.  I should have got over my faint spell in the morning, even without the wine and biscuit, and worked on until dinner-time; but I wouldn’t have been able to eat anything.  It almost always happens, when I go so long without food, that my appetite fails altogether, and by the time night comes, I sink down in an exhausted state, from which nature finds it hard to rally.  It has been so a number of times.  The week before I came here, I was sewing for a lady, and worked from eight o’clock in the morning until four in the afternoon, without food passing my lips.  As I had been unable to eat anything at breakfast-time, I grew very faint, and when called to dinner, was unable to swallow a mouthful.  When I got home in the evening I was feverish and exhausted, and coughed nearly all night.  It was three or four days before I was well enough to go out again.”

“Has this happened, in any instance, while you were sewing for me?” asked Mrs. Wykoff.

Miss Carson dropped her face, and turned it partly aside; her manner was slightly disturbed.

“Don’t hesitate about answering my question, Mary.  If it has happened, say so.  I am not always as thoughtful as I should be.”

“It happened once.”

“When?”

“Last week.”

“Oh!  I remember that you were not able to come for two days.  Now, tell me, Mary, without reservation, exactly how it was.”

“I never blamed you for a moment, Mrs. Wykoff.  You didn’t think; and I’d rather not say anything about it.  If I’d been as well as usual on that day, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“You’d passed a sleepless night?” said Mrs. Wykoff.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“The consequence of fatigue and exhaustion?”

“Perhaps that was the reason.”

“And couldn’t eat any breakfast?”

“I drank a cup of coffee.”

“Very well.  After that you came here to work.  Now, tell me exactly what occurred, and how you felt all day.  Don’t keep back anything on account of my feelings.  I want the exact truth.  It will be of use to me, and to others also, I think.”

Thus urged, Miss Carson replied—­

“I’ll tell you just as it was.  I came later than usual.  The walk is long, and I felt so weak that I couldn’t hurry.  I thought you looked a little serious when I came in, and concluded that it was in consequence of my being late.  The air and walk gave me an appetite, and if I had taken some food then, it would have done me good.  I thought, as I stood at the door, waiting to be let in, that I would ask for a cracker or a piece of bread and butter; but, when I met you, and saw how sober you looked, my heart failed me.”