Robin could be only a care. Lately she had felt the mere effort of
living to be a burden, and she did not care to make any exertion for
any one else.

All the brightness and purpose seemed to drop out of her life the day
that little Dorothy was taken away. Her husband had tried everything
in his power to arouse her from her hopeless despondency, but she
refused to be comforted.

Steven's trouble had touched the first responsive chord. She looked
down into his expectant face, feeling that she could not bear to
disappoint him, yet unwilling to make a promise that involved personal
exertion.

Then she answered slowly, "I wish my husband were here. I cannot give
you an answer without consulting him. Then, you see the society that
sent you out here probably has some written agreement with these
people, and if they do not want to give him up we might find it a
difficult matter to get him. Mr. Estel will be home in a few days, and
he will see what can be done."

That morning when Steven had been seized with a sudden impulse to find
Mrs. Estel he had no definite idea of what she could do to help him.
It had never occurred to him for an instant that she would offer to
take either of them to live with her. He thought only of that
afternoon on the train, when her sympathy had comforted him so much,
and of her words at parting: "If you ever need a friend, dear, or are
in trouble of any kind, let me know and I will help you." It was that
promise that lured him on all that weary way through the cold
snow-storm.