Ever thus, to the mind of the sweet girl, when the troubles of others were mentioned to her, came, first, the desire to afford relief.

“We can do nothing,” replied Edith, “at present, unless it be to assist through the house, so that the chambermaid can attend the door, wait on the table, and do other things now required of the waiter.”

“And let him go?”

“Yes.”

“I am willing to do all in my power, Edith,” said Miriam.  “But, if mother has lost so much already, will she not lose still more if she continue to go on as she is now going?”

“She hopes to fill all her rooms; then she thinks that she will be able to make something.”

“This has been her hope from the first,” replied Miriam.

“Yes; and thus far it has been a vain hope.”

“Three hundred dollars lost already,” sighed Miriam, “our beautiful furniture ruined, and all domestic happiness destroyed!  Ah me!  Where is all going to end?  Uncle Hiram was right when he objected to mother’s taking boarders, and said that it was the worst thing she could attempt to do.  I wish we had taken his advice.  Willingly would I give music lessons or work with my hands for an income, to save mother from the suffering and labour she has now to bear.”

“The worst is,” said Edith, following out her own thoughts rather than replying to her sister, “now that all our money is gone, debt will follow.  How is the next quarter’s rent to be paid?”

“A hundred aid fifty dollars?”

“Yes.  How can we pay that?”

“Oh dear!” sighed Miriam.  What are we to do?  How dark all looks!”

“If there is not some change,” said Edith, “by the close of another six months, every thing we have will be sold for debt.”

“Dreadful!” ejaculated Miriam, “dreadful!”

For a long time the sisters conferred together, but no gleam of light arose in their minds.  All the future remained shrouded in darkness.

CHAPTER VII.

The man named Burton, to whom reference has been made as being particularly attentive to Miriam, was really charmed with the beautiful young girl.  But the affection of a man such as he was comes to its object as a blight instead of a blessing.  Miriam, while she did not repel his attentions, for his manner towards her was ever polite and respectful, felt, nevertheless, an instinctive repugnance towards him, and when she could keep out of his way without seeming to avoid him, she generally did so.

A few evenings after the conversation held with Edith, as given in the last chapter, Burton, in passing from the dining room, said to Miriam,—­

“Come.  I want you to play for me some of those beautiful airs in Don Giovanni.”

“Indeed you must excuse me Mr. Burton,” replied Miriam.  I don’t feel like playing to-night.”

“Can’t excuse you, indeed,” said Burton, smiling pleasantly, and, at the same time, taking Miriam’s hand, which she quickly withdrew from his touch.  The contact sent an unpleasant thrill along her nerves.  “So come.  I must have some music to-night.”