At last the day of doom had arrived.
Parson John found Mrs. Frenelle in the cosy sitting-room with her invalid
daughter, Nora. The latter was endeavouring to comfort her mother. The
girl's face, although worn with care and suffering, was sweet to look
upon. She was not what one would call pretty, but it was impossible to be
long in her presence without feeling the influence of her strong buoyant
disposition. The angel of pain had purged away much of the dross of her
nature, leaving the pure gold undimmed. She inherited, too, much of her
father's strength of character which seemed to be lacking in her brother.
"What are we to do?" sobbed poor Mrs. Frenelle, as the parson entered the
room. "We will be driven from our dear old home, where we have spent so
many happy years! We will be penniless!"
"Hush, mother dear," remonstrated her daughter. "Don't get so discouraged.
The place may bring more than will cover the mortgage. We will have that
to start with again, and in a few years we may be able to pay everything
off. Stephen may settle down to hard, steady work and all will be well."
"Nora is right," replied the parson.
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