which shaded the unbroken window were almost spotlessly clean.
By several other indications it was quite plain that a woman's hand had
lately been busy in the room; and compared with many other rooms in the
same building, it was quite a palace of cleanliness and comfort.

But Francis Trent did not think so. He sat over his small and
smouldering fire one dark November afternoon, and shivered, partly from
cold and partly from disgust. He had no coals left, and no money
wherewith to buy them: a few sticks and some coke and cinders were the
materials out of which he was trying to make a fire, and naturally the
result was not very inspiriting. The kettle, which was standing on the
dull embers, showed not the slightest inclination to "sing." Francis
Trent, outstretched on a basket-chair (the only comfortable article of
furniture that the room contained), gave the fire an occasional stir
with his foot, and bestowed upon it a deal of invective.

"It will be out directly," he said at last, sitting up and looking
dismally about him; "and it's nearly five o'clock. She said she would be
here at four. Ugh! how cold it is! If she doesn't come in five minutes I
shall go to the Spotted Dog. There's always a fire there, thank
goodness, and they'll stand me a glass of something hot, I daresay."

He rose and walked about the room by way of relieving the monotony of
existence, and causing his blood to circulate a little faster. But this
mode of activity did not long please him, and he threw himself back in
his chair at last, and uttered an exclamation of disgust.

"Confound it! I shall go out," he said to himself.

But just at that moment a hand fumbled at the latch. He called out "Come
in," an unnecessary call, because the door was half open before he
spoke, and a woman entered the room, shutting the door behind her.

She was slight, trim, not very tall: she had a pale face and dark eyes,
dark, glossy hair, and delicate features. If Lesley had been there, she
would have recognized in this woman the ladies' maid who called herself
Mary Kingston. But in this part of the world she was known as Mrs.
Trent.

Francis did not give her a warm welcome, and yet his weak, worn face
lighted up a little at the sight of her. "I thought you were never
coming," he said, grumblingly, and his eyes fell greedily to the basket
that she carried on her arm. "What have you got there?"

"Just a few little things for your tea," said Mary, depositing the