"That's part of it all—part of what He gives me to bear. It is all from Him—and through it all He loves. He couldn't give me more to bear than it's right for me to have—because He loves me."

Doris laid her gloved hand on Winnie's.

"I like to hear you. Some day you must say more." She had often herself spoken some such words to a sufferer in a cottage, because she supposed that she ought. It was a different matter to hear them uttered out of a girl's own experience. But she was shy of pursuing the subject just then. "Can you ever get out for walks?" she asked.

"When it is warm enough I sit in the garden."

"And—church?"

"It is too far off, and I can't sit up for so long. Last time I tried, the pain got so bad that I fainted."

"Have you no friends to come and see you?"

"Oh, yes—there's—" and she hesitated. "We left most of our friends in Norfolk."

"Did you like coming?"

"Uncle wanted mother; and she thought we ought. He was alone—and this had been her home when she was a girl—till she went to be trained as a nurse."

"And she nursed Miss Stirling—when was that?"

"When Miss Stirling was quite a little child. And then mother married. I think uncle didn't much like mother's marriage. She saw nothing of him, or he of her, for years and years after."

"I should like to come and see you, sometimes, Winnie. I might cycle over, now and then." Winnie's face brightened. "And I shall speak to Mr. Stirling about you. He always likes to know when people are in trouble."

This brought a flush. "He does come—"

"I suppose he calls to see Mr. Paine on business."

"He comes to see us too. He gives me presents. He is—so kind. He has done such a lot for us. I shouldn't like him to be asked to do anything more."

Doris had not thought of money-help. "I only meant that he might advise your mother to make you see a doctor."

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