Give me the key. Get
me a cup of tea, and then to bed with you! I have a letter to write.
Call me at four, to a minute. Have you ordered two chairs, to save all
risk?"

"Yes, madam; and the landlord will see your things to the coach office
to-night."

Lady Carse had sealed her letter, and was winding up her watch with her
eyes fixed on the decaying fire, when she was startled by a knock at the
house door. Everybody else was in bed. In a vague fear she hastened to
her chamber, and held the door in her hand and listened while the
landlord went down. There were two voices besides his; and there was a
noise as of something heavy brought into the hall. When this was done,
and the bolts and bars were again fastened, she went to the stair-head
and saw the landlord coming up with a letter in his hand. The letter
was for her. It was heavy. Her trunks had come back from the coach
office. The London coach was gone.

The letter contained the money paid for the fare of Lady Carse and her
maid to London, and explained that a person of importance having
occasion to go to London with attendants, and it being necessary to use
haste, the coach was compelled to start six hours earlier than usual;
and Lady Carse would have the first choice of places next time;--that is
in a fortnight.

Bessie had never seen her mistress in such a rage as now: and poor
Bessie was never to see it again. At the first news, she was off her
guard, and thanked Heaven that this dangerous journey was put off for a
fortnight; and much might happen in that time. Her mistress turned
round upon her, said it was not put off,--she would go on horseback
alone,--she would go on foot,--she would crawl on her knees, sooner than
give up. Bessie was silent, well knowing that none of these ways would
or could be tried, and thankful that there was only this one coach to
England. Enraged at her silence, her mistress declared that no one who
was afraid to go to London was a proper servant for her, and turned her
off upon the spot. She paid her wages to the weeping Bessie, and with
the first light of morning, sent her from the house, herself closing the
door behind her. She then went to bed, drawing the curtains close round
it, remaining there all the next day, and refusing food.

In the evening, she wearily rose, and slowly dressed herself,--for the
first time in her life without help. She was fretted and humbled at the
little difficulties of her toilet,