r a good quarter of an hour, but the domestic was
to be shaken neither with threats nor prayers. Resolutely did she
ascend to her bedroom, promptly did she pack her box. Almost before
Mrs. Denyer could realize the disaster that had befallen, her house was
servantless.

She again sat in the back parlour, gazing blankly at the table, when
there came the sound of the house-door opening, followed by a light
tread in the passage.

"Barbara!" called Mrs. Denyer.

Barbara presented herself. She also wore mourning, genteel but
inexpensive. Her prettiness endured, but she was pale, and had a
chronic look of discontent.

"Well, now, what do you think has happened? Shut the door. I paid
Charlotte the wages, and the very first thing she did was to pack and
go!"

"And you mean to say you let her? Why, you must be crazy!"

"Don't speak to me in that way!" cried her mother, hotly. "How could I
prevent her, when she was determined? I did my utmost, but nothing
could induce her to stay. Was ever anything so distracting? The very
day after letting our rooms! How are we to manage?"

"I shall have nothing to do with it. The girl wouldn't have gone if I'd
been here. You must manage how you can."

"It's no use talking like that, Barbara. You're bound to wait upon Mrs.
Travis until we get another girl."

"I?" exclaimed her daughter. "Wait on her yourself! I certainly shall
do nothing of the kind."

"You're a bad, cruel, undutiful girl!" cried Mrs. Denyer, her face on
fire. "Nether of your sisters ever treated me as you do. You're the
only one of the family that has never given the least help, and you're
the only one that day by day insults me and behaves with heartless
selfishness! I'm to wait on the lodger myself, am I? Very well! I will
do so, and see if anything in the world will shame you. She shall know
_why_ I wait on her, be sure of that!"

Barbara swept out of the room, and ascended the stairs to the second
floor. Here again she heard her name called, in a soft voice and
interrogatively in reply, she entered a small bedroom, saying
impatiently:

"What is it, Mad?"

It was seen at the first glance that this had long been a sick-chamber.
The arrangement of the furniture, the medicine-bottles, the appliances
for the use of one who cannot rise from bed, all told their story. The
air had a peculiar scent; an unnatural stillness seemed to pervade it.
Against the raised white pillow showed a face hardly less white.

"Isn'