Mrs. Morton could know how she is really situated, she could not help
wishing to spare her more trouble."

"I dare say you are right, and that you do Mrs. Morton more justice
than I do. But Lucia might be able to help us; do you mind taking her
into our councils?"

"Quite the contrary; pray consult her."

Mrs. Costello opened the drawing-room door and called Lucia. Then she
explained to her shortly the doctor's wishes, and asked whether Bella
had ever alluded in their conversations to Mrs. Clarkson.

"Yes; two or three times," Lucia answered. "She heard somehow yesterday
that she was ill, and told me. She is very sorry for her, and I think
she would be glad to do anything she can."

"Thank you, Miss Costello; you will help me, I see," cried Doctor Hardy,
delighted.

Mrs. Costello smiled, "You had better leave it in Lucia's hands,
doctor," she said. "But tell me first whether there is anything in
particular that we can do? Is Mrs. Clarkson too ill to see any one?"

"That depends very much upon who it is. Anybody who could relieve her
mind about those unfortunate children of hers would do her good."

"Perhaps I may go over then, if we have good news for her."

The doctor said good-morning, and went away, tolerably satisfied that
his promise to the dying man would be fulfilled without further trouble
on his part.

"When women take up a thing of that sort," he meditated, "they seldom do
it by halves. Now I would venture to bet something handsome that all
these three, who have cause, if ever women had, to hate the very name of
Clarkson, will be just as kind and pitiful to that poor thing as if she
were the only sufferer among them. _She's_ all right, if we can but get
her on her legs again."

This opinion was not altogether a mistaken one. Lucia went immediately
to Bella and told her simply that Doctor Hardy was much concerned about
Mrs. Clarkson, and that she herself was going to Beaver Creek to see
what could best be done for the poor woman and her family. A quiver
passed over Mrs. Morton's face. She could not yet quite free herself
from the impulse of revenge which would have held her back from help and
pity; she had the natural feeling which Mrs. Costello had half
unconsciously imputed to her, that she ought to be the last to console
the widow and children of the murderer; such feelings, however had but
a momentary power over her; the idea which was most at home in her mind
and took root to the extinction