es's toil-worn hand. For a moment her bony fingers
clutched it, then she sighed tremulously and, placing it on the table,
rose and stood staring down at it. When at last she spoke, her voice was
harsher than usual.

"Hermy, dear--I mean Mrs. Ravenslee, ma'am, I--can't--take 'em!"

"But, dear--why not?"

"Because they're coals o' fire."

"But you must take them, dear; we bought them for you and--"

"Which jools, ma'am, I can in no wise accept."

"Why, Ann, dear, whatever--"

"Which jools, ma'am, having been a dream, must for me so remain, me not
bein' faithful in my dooties to you an' Mr. Geoffrey. Consequently I
begs to tender you now my resignation, yieldin' up my post in your
service to one better worthy, and returnin' t' th' place wherefrom I
come."

Here Mrs. Trapes put on her bonnet, setting it a little askew in her
agitation.

"Th' labourer is worthy of his hire, but if he ain't--so be it!"

Here Mrs. Trapes tied her bonnet strings so tightly and with such
resolute hands that she choked.

"Why, Ann dear," cried Hermione, "whatever do you mean? As if I could
bear to part with you!" Here she untied the bonnet strings. "As if I
could ever let you go back to Mulligan's!" Here she took off the bonnet.
"As if I could ever forget all your tender love and care for me in the
days when things were so hard and so very dark!" Here she tossed the
bonnet into a corner.

"My land!" sighed Mrs. Trapes, "me best bonnet--"

"I know, Ann. I made it for you over a year ago, and it's time you had
another, anyway! Now, open that parcel--this minute!"

But instead of doing so, Mrs. Trapes sank down in the chair beside the
table and bowed her head in her hands.

"Hermy," said she, "oh, my lamb, he's gone! You left Arthur in my care
an'--he's gone, an' it's my fault. Went away at five o'clock, an' here
it is nigh on to ten--an' him sick! God knows I've searched for
him--tramped to th' ferry an' back, an' th' footmen they've looked for
him an' so have th' maids--but Arthur's gone--an' it's my fault! So,
Hermy--my dear--blame me an' let me go--"

The harsh voice broke and, bowing her head, she sat silent, touching the
unopened packet of jewellery with one long, bony finger.

"Why, Ann--dear Ann--you're crying!" Hermione was down on her knees,
had clasped that long bony figure in her arms. "You mustn't, Ann, you
mustn't. I'm sure it wasn't your fault, so don't grieve, dear--there!"
And she had drawn the disconsolate gre