The inmates of the two rooms at the Old Mansion were, indeed, anxious over Belle’s prolonged absence.  Her father had gone to the shop; Mrs. Wheaton, with her apron thrown over her head, was on the sidewalk with Mildred, peering up and down through the dusk, when the half-breathless girl appeared.

Her story was soon told, and Mrs. Wheaton was taken into their confidence.  From trembling apprehension on Belle’s behalf, kind Mrs. Jocelyn was soon deep in sympathy for the poor woman and her daughter, and offered to go herself and look after them, but Mildred and Mrs. Wheaton took the matter into their own hands, and Belle, after gulping down a hasty supper, was eager to return as guide.  Mr. Jocelyn, who had returned from the closed store on a run, had so far recovered from his panic concerning his child that he said he would bring a physician from the dispensary, and, taking the number, went to do his part for those who had become “neighbors unto them.”  A woman on the same floor offered to look after Mrs. Wheaton’s children for an hour or two, and the two sisters and the stout English woman, carrying everything they could think of to make the poor creatures comfortable, and much that they could ill spare, started on their errand of mercy.  It never occurred to them that they were engaged in a charity or doing a good deed.  They were simply following the impulses of their hearts to help those of whose sore need they had just learned.  Mildred panted a little under her load before she reached the top of those long, dark stairs.  “I could never get to heaven this way,” muttered Belle, upon whom the day of fatigue and excitement was beginning to tell.  “It’s up, up, up, till you feel like pitching the man who built these steps head first down ’em all.  It’s Belle, Clara,” she said, after a brief knock at the door; then entering, she added, “I told you I’d come back soon with help for you.”

“I’m sorry I’ve nothing to make a light with,” Clara answered; “the moon has been so bright of late that we did without light, and then I got all out of money.  We either had to pay the rent or go into the street, unless some one took us in.  Besides, mother was too sick to be moved.”

“I’ve brought two candles,” said Mrs. Wheaton.  “They’re heasier managed hon a ’ot night,” and she soon had one burning on the table and another on the mantel.  “I vant to see vat’s to be done,” she continued, “because I must give yer a ’arty lift him a jiffy and be back to my children hagain.”  Then going to the sick woman she took her hand and felt her pulse. “’Ow do yer find yerself, mum?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m much—­better—­I shall—­get well now,” the poor soul gasped, under the strange hallucination of that disease which, although incurable, ever promises speedy health to its victims.

“That’s a splendid; that’s the way to talk,” cried Belle, who had been oppressed with the fear that the woman would die, and that she in some sense would be to blame.  “Clara, this is sister Millie that I told you about,” and that was all the introduction the two girls ever had.