l, with a subdued agony in her tone
which went to Lettice's heart; "it wasn't all my fault ... I believed in
him so ... I thought he would never deceive me nor behave unkindly to
me. But I was deceived: I never, was his wife, though I thought--I
thought I was!"

"My dear," said Lettice, gently, "then you were not to blame. Mrs.
Chigwin would only be sorry for you if she knew. But we will not tell
her everything at once; you must just come in, if only for baby's sake,
and get some food and rest. Come with me now."

And Milly yielded, feeling a certain comfort and relief in having so far
told the truth to her former mistress.

Mrs. Chigwin's surprise, when she saw Lettice coming back with the baby
in her arms, may well be imagined. But she behaved very kindly: she at
once consented to take in Milly for the night and make her comfortable;
and, after one keen look at the girl's changed and downcast face, she
asked no questions.

For Milly was wonderfully changed--there was no doubt of that. Her
pretty fair hair was cropped close to her head; her eyes were sunken,
and the lids were red with tears; the bloom had faded from her cheeks,
and the roundness of youth had passed from face and form alike.
Ill-health and sorrow had gone far to rob her of her fresh young beauty;
and the privations which she confessed to having experienced during the
last few days had hollowed her eyes, sharpened her features, and bowed
her slender form. Her dress was travel-stained and shabby; her boots
were down at heel and her thin hands were glove-less. Lettice noticed
that she still wore a wedding-ring. But the neat trim look that had once
been so characteristic was entirely lost. She was bedraggled and broken
down; and Lettice thought with a thrill of horror of what might have
happened if Mrs. Chigwin had left Birchmead, or refused to take the
wayfarer in. For a woman in Milly's state there would probably have
remained only two ways open--the river or the streets.

"I've never had five in my cottage before," said Mrs. Chigwin,
cheerfully; "but where there's room for two there's room for
half-a-dozen; at least, when they're women and children."

"You must have wondered what had become of me all this time," said
Lettice.

"Nay, ma'am; you were in the garden, and that was enough for me. I knew
you couldn't be in a better place, whether you were sorrowing or
rejoicing. Nought but good comes to one in a garden."

They set food before Milly, a