ndependent woman. This meant that she should work hard for her living
in her own way, and that she should do what seemed good and pleasant to
her, because it seemed good and pleasant, not because it was the way of
the world, or the way of a house, or the routine of a relative or an
employer. It meant that she should keep her mother under her own eye, in
comfort and decency, not lodged with strangers to mope out her life in
dreary solitude. It meant also that she should not be a burden on
Sydney--or, in plain terms, that she should not take Sydney's money,
either for herself or her mother.

Indeed, the consciousness that she had to work for another, and to be
her protection and support, was not only bracing but cheering in its
effects, and Lettice now turned towards her writing-table with an energy
which had been wanting when her efforts were for herself alone.

The Rectory household had been reduced as much as possible during the
last few months, and only two servants remained at the time of the
rector's death: one, an elderly cook, who was content for the love of
"Miss Lettice" to do the work of a general servant; and a young girl of
eighteen, who had lived at the Rectory and been trained for domestic
service under Mrs. Campion's eye ever since her parents' death, which
had occurred when she was fifteen years of age. Emily, or Milly
Harrington, as she was generally called, was a quick, clever girl, very
neat-handed and fairly industrious; and it seemed to Lettice, when she
decided upon going to London, that she could not do better than ask
Milly to go too. The girl's great blue eyes opened with a flash of
positive rapture. "Go with you to London? Oh, Miss Lettice!"

"You would like it, Milly?" said Lettice, wondering at her excitement,
and thinking that she had never before noticed how pretty Millie
Harrington had grown of late.

"Oh, of all things in the world, miss, I've wanted to go to London!"
said Milly, flushing all over her face through the clear white skin
which was one of her especial beauties. There was very little trace of
commonness in Milly's good looks. Three years of life at the Rectory had
refined her appearance, as also her manners and ways of speech; and
Lettice thought that it would be far pleasanter to keep Milly about her
than to go through the agonies of a succession of pert London girls. Yet
something in Milly's eagerness to go, as well as the girl's fresh,
innocent, country air, troubled her