th another, a very great person in her way, and I like the
work. Still I used to think I was a sort of lady; my poor mother
certainly was."

"I am sure of it," cried Katherine, impulsively. "I quite feel that
_you_ are."

"Thank you," said Rachel, in a very low voice, the color rising to her
pale cheek. "My mother was so sweet and pretty," she continued, "but so
sad! I was an orphan at ten years old, and then a very stiff,
severe-looking woman, the sister of my father, had charge of me. I was
sent to a school, a kind of institution, not exactly a charity school,
for I know something was paid for me. It was a very cold sort of place,
but I was not unhappy there. I had playfellows--some kind, some
spiteful. One of the governesses was very good to me, and used to give
me books to read. Had she remained, things might have been very
different; but she left long before I did. The rare holidays when I was
permitted to visit my father's sister were terrible days to me. She
could not bear to see me. I felt it. She seemed to think my very
existence was an offence. I was ashamed of living in _her_ presence. Of
my father I have a very faint recollection. He died abroad, and I
remember being on board ship for a long time with my mother. When I was
sixteen my father's sister sent for me, and told me that the money my
mother left was nearly exhausted, and what remained ought to provide me
with some trade or calling by which I could earn my own bread; that she
did not think I was clever enough to be a governess, so she advised my
to apprentice myself to a dressmaker. I had seen enough of teaching in
school, so I took her advice. At the same time she gave me some papers
my mother had left for me. _They_ fully explained why my existence was
an offence--why I belonged to nobody. It was a bitter hour when I read
my dear mother's miserable story. I felt old from that day. Well, I
thanked my father's sister--mind you, she was not my aunt--for what she
had done, and promised she should never more be troubled with me. I have
kept my word."

Katherine, infinitely touched by the picture of sorrow and loneliness
this brief story conjured up, took and pressed the thin quivering hand
that played nervously with a thimble. Rachel glanced at her quickly,
compressed her lips for an instant, and went on:

"I will try and tell you all. You ought to know. As far as work went, I
did very well. I loved to handle and drape beautiful stuffs--I enjoy
colo