hings was. She told me plain an' straightforward as she couldn't
say who she was and where she come from. And it was something in her
way o' speakin', a kind o' quietness like, as you don't hoften get in
young girls nowadays. They're so for'ard, as their parents ain't got
the same 'old on 'em as they had when I was young. I shouldn't wonder
if you've noticed the same thing with your servants, mum. An' so I said
as I'd let her have a bed for sevenpence; and if you'd a' seen how
thankful she looked. She wasn't the kind to go an' sleep anywhere, an'
goodness only knows what might a' come to her at that hour o' the
night. And the next mornin' she did look that white an' poorly, when I
met her a-comin' down the stairs. 'Well,' says I, 'an' what about
breakfast, eh?' She went a bit red like, an' said as it didn't matter;
she'd go out an' find work. 'Well, look here now,' says I, 'suppose you
wash up them things there to pay for a cup o' tea and two slices?' An'
then she looked at me thankful again, an' says as it was kind o' me.
Well, of course, you may say as it isn't everybody 'ud a' took her in
for sevenpence, but then, as I was a-sayin', we did want somebody to
help me an' 'Lizabeth, an' I don't take much to myself for what I did.'

'You acted well and kindly, Mrs. Gandle,' said Mrs. Ormonde.

So the long story went on. The girl had been only too glad to stay as
general servant, and worked well, worked as hard as any one could
expect, Mrs. Gandle said. But she was far from well, and every day,
after the first week, her strength fell off. At length she had a
fainting fit, falling with two dishes in her hands. Her work had to be
lightened. But the fainting was several times repeated, and, now three
days ago, illness it was impossible to struggle against kept her to her
bed.

'Well, I begged an' I prayed of her as she'd tell me where she
belonged, and where her friends was. But she could only cry an' say as
she'd go away, and wouldn't be a burden. 'Don't talk silly, child,' I
kep' sayin'. 'How can you go away in this state? Unless you're goin' to
your friends?' But she said no, as she hadn't no friends to go to. An'
she cried so, it fair went to my heart, the poor thing! An' I begun to
be that afraid as she'd die. I am that glad as you've come, mum. If you
don't mind waitin' another ten minutes, the worst o' this 'll be over,
an' then I can leave 'Lizabeth to it, and go upstairs with you.'

'Is she conscious at present?'