hat had been the business of the stranger, she made a
great mystery over it, and declined to answer.

"It's good news, by the signs of your face," remarked Mrs. Duff.

"Good news!" rapturously repeated Susan Peckaby, "it's heaven. I say,
Mother Duff, I want a new gownd: something of the very best. I'll pay
for it by degrees. There ain't no time to be lost, neither; so I'll come
down at once and choose it."

"What _has_ happened?" was the wondering rejoinder of Mother Duff.

"Never you mind, just yet. I'll tell you about it afore the week's out."

And, accordingly, before the week was out, all Deerham was regaled with
the news; full particulars. And Susan Peckaby, a robe of purple, of the
stuff called lustre, laid up in state, to be donned when the occasion
came, passed her time, night and day, at her door and windows, looking
out for the white donkey that was to bear her in triumph to New
Jerusalem.

CHAPTER XLII.

A SURPRISE FOR MRS. TYNN.

In the commodious dressing-room at Verner's Pride, appropriated to its
new mistress, Mrs. Verner, stood the housekeeper, Tynn, lifting her
hands and her eyes. You once saw the chamber of John Massingbird, in
this same house, in a tolerable litter: but that was as nothing compared
with the litter in this dressing-room, piles and piles of it, one heap
by the side of another. Mary Tynn stood screwed against the wainscoting
of the wall: she had got in, but to get out was another matter: there
was not a free place where she could put her foot. Strictly speaking,
perhaps, it could not be called litter, and Mrs. Verner and her French
maid would have been alike indignant at hearing it so classed. Robes of
rich and rare texture; silks standing on end with magnificence; dinner
attire, than which nothing could be more exquisite; ball dresses in all
sorts of gossamer fabrics; under-skirts, glistening with their soft
lustre; morning costumes, pure and costly; shawls of Cashmere and other
_recherche_ stuffs, enough to stock a shop; mantles of every known make;
bonnets that would send an English milliner crazy; veils charming to
look upon; laces that might rival Lady Verner's embroideries, their
price fabulous; handkerchiefs that surely never were made for use;
dozens of delicately-tinted gloves, cased in ornamental boxes, costing
as much as they did; every description of expensive _chaussure_; and
trinkets, the drawn cheques for which must have caused Lionel Verner's
sober banker