otton?" said the old woman, coming up
to her and laying her hand on her shoulder, while she peered earnestly
into her face. "I never saw such a cruel change in a young cretur in the
course of a few weeks! But there may be a cause--a natural cause," and
she smiled significantly.

"No, no, thank goodness! You are wrong--quite wrong, Mrs. Martin. No
child of mine will ever sport upon my threshold, or gather daisies
beside my door; and I am thankful--so thankful, that it is so!"

"That's hardly in natur'. Most o' womankind love young
children--'specially their own."

"My dear Mrs. Cotton," said Sarah soothingly, "you look ill and
miserable; do tell us what makes you so unhappy."

"Indeed, Sarah, I can't." And Sophy wept afresh.

"Is Noah cross to you?"

"Quite the reverse--he's the kindest of men."

"He looks very stern."

"His looks belie him."

"And do you love him?"

"If I did not, I should not be so miserable;" and Sophy laid her head
down upon her knees and wept aloud.

"Mrs. Cotton, you distress us greatly," continued Sarah, taking her
cold, passive hand. "Won't you tell a friend and neighbour the reason of
this grief?"

But Sophy only wept as if her heart were breaking. The mother and
daughter looked at each other.

The old woman returned again to the charge:--

"Tell one who loves thee like a mother."

A deep, long drawn sigh was the only answer.

"Speak out your mind, dear," said Sarah, pressing affectionately the
thin, wasted hand that lay so passively within her own. "It will ease
your heart."

"Ah! if I thought that you would tell no one,"--and Sophy raised her
death-pale face, and fixed her earnest eyes mournfully upon her
interrogator,--"I would confide to you my trouble; but oh, if you were
so cruel as to betray me, it would drive me mad."

"Sure we can be trusted, Mistress Cotton," and the old woman drew
herself up with an air of offended dignity. "What interest could Sarah
and I have to betray thee? we be no idle gossips going clacking from
house to house about matters that don't concern us. What good could it
do us to blab the secrets of other folk?"

"It is only anxiety for your welfare, dear Mrs. Cotton," whispered
Sarah, "that makes us wish to know what it is that troubles you."

"I believe you, my kind friends," replied Sophy. "I know I should feel
better if I had the thing off my mind. It is dreadful to bear such a
burthen alone."

"Does not your husband know it?"

"That