I am never to be allowed any great happiness," said Audrey in her heart.
"If something good comes my way, something bad comes with it."
Even through her anxiety the thought would come, adding bitterness to her
trouble. The letter and cheque she held slipped from her fingers to the
floor. She would not even tell her news, she thought bitterly.
Perhaps if she showed that she did not care, Fate would find no pleasure
in being so cruel to her.

"Do you want me to go too?" she asked. She knew that her voice was hard
and unsympathetic, but she felt, at that moment, as though she could not
help it.

"No, not now, dear." The gentleness of her mother's voice brought a lump
to Audrey's throat. "Your father will go first, and see how things are.
They may need a trained nurse, or--well, we don't know; but, oh, Audrey,
Audrey, the bitter part is that we haven't the money to take him there.
We dare not draw any more from the Bank until some has been paid in, and
that cannot be for a few days yet. What can we do? There is no one we
can appeal to, no one we can confide in. If Mr. Vivian were only
here----"

But Audrey, instead of answering, was groping on the floor. Tears were in
her eyes, shame and remorse again filled her heart. After all, God was
giving her a greater opportunity, a more perfect way, of using her money,
than any she had dreamed of.

"Father," she said shyly, "I have just had this," holding out the two
slips of paper. "I came up to tell you and mother, but--but----"
The varying emotions of the morning, the joyful surprise, the excitement,
the shock which had turned her faint, the drop from the height of her
happiness to the depths of bitterness and sorrow, proved too much for
Audrey, and, dropping on her knees beside her mother's bed, she burst into
tears.

She felt her mother's gentle hand on her head, she felt her father raise
her in his arms. She heard her father, as he kissed her forehead, murmur,
"My blessed child, my God-send." She heard her mother say, with a catch
in her voice, "My Audrey, what should we do without you!"

But all Audrey could do was to sob brokenly. "No, no, no, I don't deserve
it, don't, please don't. You don't know----"

"I do know," whispered her father kindly, as he held her. "You felt
aggrieved, hurt; you came up in the full flush of your happiness,
and found us filled with selfish sorrow, wrapped in our own cares.
You thought all your pleasure in your success was