ich Martha was to take away for
herself. One very small and very thin slice, together with one
unwholesome little potato, represented the servant's meal. As soon as
the door had closed, Bertha spoke in an ominously quiet voice.

"Mother, this won't do. I am very sorry to annoy you, but if you call
that a dinner for a girl who works hard ten or twelve hours a day, I
don't. How she supports life, I can't understand. You have only to look
into her face to see she's starving. I can bear the sight of it no
longer."

This time she held firm. The conflict lasted for half an hour, during
which Mrs. Cross twice threatened to faint. Neither of them ate
anything, and in the end Bertha saw herself, if not defeated, at all
events no better off than at the beginning, for her mother clung
fiercely to authority, and would obviously live in perpetual strife
rather than yield an inch. For the next two days domestic life was very
unpleasant indeed; mother and daughter exchanged few words; meanwhile
Martha was tasked, if possible, more vigorously than ever, and fed
mysteriously, meals no longer doled out to her under Bertha's eyes. The
third morning brought another crisis.

"I have a letter from Emily," said Bertha at breakfast, naming a friend
of hers who lived in the far north of London. "I'm going to see her
to-day."

"Very well," answered Mrs. Cross, between rigid lips.

"She says that in the house where she lives, there's a bed-sitting-room
to let. I think, mother, it might be better for me to take it."

"You will do just as you please, Bertha."

"I shall have dinner to-day with Emily, and be back about tea-time."

"I have no doubt," replied Mrs. Cross, "that Martha will be so obliging
as to have tea ready for you. If she doesn't feel _strong_ enough, of
course I will see to it myself."

CHAPTER 42

On the evening before, Martha had received her month's wages, and had
been promised the usual afternoon of liberty to-day; but, as soon as
Bertha had left the house, Mrs. Cross summoned the domestic, and
informed her bluntly that the holiday must be postponed.

"I'm very sorry, mum," replied Martha, with an odd, half-frightened
look in her watery eyes. "I'd promised to go and see my brother as has
just lost his wife; but of course, if it isn't convenient, mum--"

"It really is not, Martha. Miss Bertha will be out all day, and I don't
like being left alone You shall go to-morrow instead."

Half an hour later, Mrs. Cr