ong time.
He'd been forgotten. What had all this to do with him--this house and
Charlotte, the girls and Harold--what did he know about them? They were
strangers to him. Life had passed him by. Charlotte was not his wife.
His wife!

... A dark porch, half hidden by a passion-vine, that drooped sorrowful,
mournful, as though it understood. Small, warm arms were round his neck.
A face, little and pale, lifted to his, and a voice breathed, "Good-bye,
my treasure."

My treasure! "Good-bye, my treasure!" Which of them had spoken? Why had
they said good-bye? There had been some terrible mistake. She was his
wife, that little pale girl, and all the rest of his life had been a
dream.

Then the door opened, and young Charles, standing in the light, put his
hands by his side and shouted like a young soldier, "Dinner is on the
table, sir!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," said old Mr. Neave.

15. THE LADY'S MAID.

Eleven o'clock. A knock at the door... I hope I haven't disturbed you,
madam. You weren't asleep--were you? But I've just given my lady her
tea, and there was such a nice cup over, I thought, perhaps...

... Not at all, madam. I always make a cup of tea last thing. She drinks
it in bed after her prayers to warm her up. I put the kettle on when she
kneels down and I say to it, "Now you needn't be in too much of a hurry
to say your prayers." But it's always boiling before my lady is half
through. You see, madam, we know such a lot of people, and they've all
got to be prayed for--every one. My lady keeps a list of the names in a
little red book. Oh dear! whenever some one new has been to see us and
my lady says afterwards, "Ellen, give me my little red book," I feel
quite wild, I do. "There's another," I think, "keeping her out of her
bed in all weathers." And she won't have a cushion, you know, madam; she
kneels on the hard carpet. It fidgets me something dreadful to see
her, knowing her as I do. I've tried to cheat her; I've spread out
the eiderdown. But the first time I did it--oh, she gave me such a
look--holy it was, madam. "Did our Lord have an eiderdown, Ellen?" she
said. But--I was younger at the time--I felt inclined to say, "No, but
our Lord wasn't your age, and he didn't know what it was to have your
lumbago." Wicked--wasn't it? But she's too good, you know, madam. When
I tucked her up just now and seen--saw her lying back, her hands outside
and her head on the pillow--so pretty--I couldn't help thinking