h you--that's what _she'll_ call it."

When Jemima was gone, Mary fell a-thinking afresh. It was all very
well, she said to herself, to talk about doing her work, but here she
was with scarce a shadow of an idea what her work was! Had _any_ work
been given her to do in this house? Had she presumed in
coming--anticipated the guidance of Providence, and was she therefore
now where she had no right to be? She could not tell; but, anyhow, here
she was, and no one could be anywhere without the fact involving its
own duty. Even if she had put herself there, and was to blame for being
there, that did not free her from the obligations of the position, and
she was willing to do whatever should _now_ be given her to do. God was
not a hard master; if she had made a mistake, he would pardon her, and
either give her work here, where she found herself, or send her
elsewhere. I need not say that thinking was not all her care; for she
thought in the presence of Him who, because he is always setting our
wrong things right, is called God our Saviour.

CHAPTER XXVII.

MR. AND MRS. HELMER

The next morning, Mary set out to find Letty, from whom, as I have
said, she had heard but twice since her marriage. Mary had written
again about a month ago, but had had no reply. The sad fact was, that,
ever since she left Testbridge, Letty, for a long time, without knowing
it, had been going down hill. There have been many whose earnestness
has vanished with the presence of those whose influence awoke it.
Letty's better self seemed to have remained behind with Mary; and not
even if he had been as good as she thought him, could Tom himself have
made up to her for the loss of such a friend.

But Letty had not found marriage at all the grand thing she had
expected. With the faithfulness of a woman, however, she attributed her
disappointment to something inherent in marriage, nowise affecting the
man whom marriage had made her husband.

That he might be near the center to which what little work he did
gravitated, Tom had taken a lodging in a noisy street, as unlike all
that Letty had been accustomed to as anything London, except in its
viler parts, could afford. Never a green thing was to be looked upon in
any direction. Not a sweet sound was to be heard.

The sun, at this time of the year, was seldom to be seen in London
anywhere; and in Lydgate Street, even when there was no fog, it was but
askance, and for a brief portion of the day, th