g the mistress of
the house for her thoughtfulness, for the wish to be kind, which so often
exceeds the performance.

The room was warm and well lighted; the night was very calm and
sweet outside, nothing had been touched or changed of all her little
decorations, the ornaments which had been so delightful to her
girlhood. A large photograph of Lady Mary held the chief place over the
mantel-piece, representing her in the fullness of her beauty,--a
photograph which had been taken from the picture painted ages ago by a
Royal Academician. It fortunately was so little like Lady Mary in her old
age that, save as a thing which had always hung there, and belonged to
her happier life, it did not affect the girl; but no picture was
necessary to bring before her the well-remembered figure. She could not
realize that the little movements she heard on the other side of the door
were any other than those of her mistress, her friend, her mother; for
all these names Mary lavished upon her in the fullness of her heart. The
blame that was being cast upon Lady Mary from all sides made this child
of her bounty but more deeply her partisan, more warm in her adoration.
She would not, for all the inheritances of the world, have acknowledged
even to herself that Lady Mary was in fault. Mary felt that she would
rather a thousand times be poor and have to gain her daily bread, than
that she who had nourished and cherished her should have been forced in
her cheerful old age to think, before she chose to do so, of parting and
farewell and the inevitable end.

She thought, like every young creature in strange and painful
circumstances, that she would be unable to sleep, and did indeed lie
awake and weep for an hour or more, thinking of all the changes that had
happened; but sleep overtook her before she knew, while her mind was
still full of these thoughts; and her dreams were endless, confused, full
of misery and longing. She dreamed a dozen times over that she heard
Lady Mary's soft call through the open door,--which was not open, but
shut closely and locked by the sisters who now inhabited the next room;
and once she dreamed that Lady Mary came to her bedside and stood there
looking at her earnestly, with the tears flowing from her eyes. Mary
struggled in her sleep to tell her benefactress how she loved her, and
approved of all she had done, and wanted nothing,--but felt herself
bound as by a nightmare, so that she could not move or speak, or e