But wait a minute--" he turned and took up the paper
which he had laid aside, on a chair. "Yes they says here that they
has a clue."

"A clue, Bunting?" Mrs. Bunting spoke in a soft, weak, die-away
voice, and again, stooping somewhat, she grasped the edge of the
table.

But her husband was not noticing her now. He was holding the paper
close up to his eyes, and he read from it, in a tone of considerable
satisfaction:

"'It is gratifying to be able to state that the police at last
believe they are in possession of a clue which will lead to the
arrest of the--'" and then Bunting dropped the paper and rushed
round the table.

His wife, with a curious sighing moan, had slipped down on to the
floor, taking with her the tablecloth as she went. She lay there
in what appeared to be a dead faint. And Bunting, scared out of
his wits, opened the door and screamed out, "Daisy! Daisy! Come
up, child. Ellen's took bad again."

And Daisy, hurrying in, showed an amount of sense and resource
which even at this anxious moment roused her fond father's
admiration.

"Get a wet sponge, Dad--quick!" she cried, "a sponge,--and, if
you've got such a thing, a drop o' brandy. I'll see after her!"
And then, after he had got the little medicine flask, "I can't think
what's wrong with Ellen," said Daisy wonderingly. "She seemed quite
all right when I first came in. She was listening, interested-like,
to what I was telling her, and then, suddenly--well, you saw how
she was took, father? 'Tain't like Ellen this, is it now?"

"No," he whispered. "No, 'tain't. But you see, child, we've been
going through a pretty bad time--worse nor I should ever have let
you know of, my dear. Ellen's just feeling it now--that's what it
is. She didn't say nothing, for Ellen's a good plucked one, but
it's told on her--it's told on her!"

And then Mrs. Bunting, sitting up, slowly opened her eyes, and
instinctively put her hand up to her head to see if her hair was
all right.

She hadn't really been quite "off." It would have been better for
her if she had. She had simply had an awful feeling that she
couldn't stand up--more, that she must fall down. Bunting's words
touched a most unwonted chord in the poor woman's heart, and the
eyes which she opened were full of tears. She had not thought her
husband knew how she had suffered during those weeks of starving
and waiting.

But she had a morbid dislike of any betrayal of sentiment. To her
such betrayal beto