The last few words were spoken half to herself, in a low tone of distressing despondency.

“For the present,” said Mrs. Darlington, anxious to mitigate, even in a small degree, the anguish of the unhappy woman’s mind, “let this give you no trouble.  Doubtless the way will open before you.  After the darkest hour the morning breaks.”

Yet, even while Mrs. Darlington sought thus to give comfort, her own heart felt the weight upon it growing heavier.  Scarcely able to stand up in her difficulties alone, here was a new burden laid upon her.

None could have sympathized more deeply with the afflicted mother and deserted wife than did Mrs. Darlington and her family; and none could have extended more willingly a helping hand in time of need.  But, in sustaining the burden of her support, they felt that the additional weight was bearing them under.

CHAPTER VI.

Three months more elapsed.  Mrs. Marion was still an inmate of the family.  Up to this time, not a word had come from her husband, and she had not been able to pay Mrs. Darlington a single dollar.

Painfully did she feel her dependent situation, although she was treated with the utmost delicacy and consideration.  But all the widow’s means were now exhausted in the payment of the second quarter’s rent, and she found her weekly income reduced to thirty-five dollars, scarcely sufficient to meet the weekly expense for supplying the table, paying the servants, etc., leaving nothing for future rent bills, the cost of clothing, and education for the younger children.  With all this, Mrs. Darlington’s duties had been growing daily more and more severe.  Nothing could be trusted to servants that was not, in some way, defectively done, causing repeated complaints from the boarders.  What proved most annoying was the bad cooking, to remedy which Mrs. Darlington strove in vain.  One day the coffee was not fit to drink, and on the next day the steak would be burnt or broiled as dry as a chip, or the sirloin roasted until every particle of juice had evaporated.  If hot cakes were ordered for breakfast, ten chances to one that they were not sour; or, if rolls were baked, they would, most likely, be as heavy as lead.

Such mishaps were so frequent, that the guests of Mrs. Darlington became impatient, and Mr. Scragg, in particular, never let an occasion for grumbling or insolence pass without fully improving it.

“Is your coal out?” said he, one morning, about this time, as he sat at the breakfast table.

Mrs. Darlington understood, by the man’s tone and manner, that he meant to be rude, though she did not comprehend the meaning of the question.

“No, sir,” she replied, with some dignity of manner.  “Why do you ask?”

“It struck me,” he answered, “that such might be the case.  But, perhaps, cook is too lazy to bring it out of the cellar.  If she’ll send for me to-morrow morning, I’ll bring her up an extra scuttleful, as I particularly like a good cup of hot coffee.”