old, foggy, murky, miserable winter. Eily was
transformed. No longer bright, sparkling, and gay, but pale, listless,
and weary--the veriest drudge that ever lived under an iron rule. A
thick black fringe adorned her forehead, her ears were bedecked with
gaudy rings, and her waist squeezed into half its ordinary size; her
clothes, bought cheaply at a second-hand shop, were tawdry and
ill-fitting, yet they were her only pleasure; she watched herself
gradually developing into a "fine lady" with a satisfaction and
excitement that alone kept her from giving way altogether.

Her heart was still aching for a sight of her lover, and many a time
when her aunt was out she neglected tasks that she might sit at the
parlour window and watch with feverish expectancy for the owner of the
fair moustache and languid manner that had so completely taken her
fancy; but he never came, and she rose from her vigils with a sore
heart.

Two friends she had; two who never spoke roughly, nor upbraided her.
"Uncle William," himself cowed and subdued, stood first. Sometimes, when
the lady of the house became unbearable, and poor Eily's head ached with
all the tears she shed, he would take her in the cool of the evening
away to a large green park, where the wind blew fresh, the dew sparkled
on the grass, and the noisy traffic of the streets was still; there she
would rest her weary body, while the old man soothed her gently and
stroked her poor hands, all chapped and red with hard work.

Eily's other friend was a lady who occupied a single top room in her
aunt's tall house. She was a gentle, white-haired woman, with faded blue
eyes and a sweet smile. She had won Eily's heart from the first by the
soft, kindly tones of her voice, and the consideration she showed for
the severely-tried feet of the little Irish maid. Mrs. Grey taught
drawing and painting; her pupils were few, her terms low; it was a
difficult matter to make both ends meet, but she managed it by careful
contriving, and sometimes had enough to treat her waiting-maid to a
morsel of something savoury cooked on her own little stove.

* * * * *

It was May. Eily was standing at the window while Mrs. Murphy went forth
on a bargain-hunting expedition.

"Eily, come upstairs, child; I have something to show you." Mrs. Grey
was in the room, looking flushed and excited; she was flourishing a book
in her hand. Eily's heart beat rapidly as she ascended the steep