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"The child is out at nurse."

"Does the father help to support it?"

"He does all he can, ma'am."

"What is he? Is he in service? Is he in a trade?"

"His father is a master-carpenter--he works in his father's yard."

"If he has got work, why has he not married you?"

"It is his father's fault, ma'am--not his. His father has no pity on us.
He would be turned out of house and home if he married me."

"Can he get no work elsewhere?"

"It's hard to get good work in London, ma'am. There are so many in
London--they take the bread out of each other's mouths. If we had only
had the money to emigrate, he would have married me long since."

"Would he marry you if you had the money now?"

"I am sure he would, ma'am. He could get plenty of work in Australia,
and double and treble the wages he gets here. He is trying hard, and
I am trying hard, to save a little toward it--I put by all I can spare
from my child. But it is so little! If we live for years to come, there
seems no hope for us. I know I have done wrong every way--I know I don't
deserve to be happy. But how could I let my child suffer?--I was obliged
to go to service. My mistress was hard on me, and my health broke down
in trying to live by my needle. I would never have deceived anybody by
a false character, if there had been another chance for me. I was alone
and helpless, ma'am; and I can only ask you to forgive me."

"Ask better women than I am," said Magdalen, sadly. "I am only fit to
feel for you, and I do feel for you with all my heart. In your place I
should have gone into service with a false character, too. Say no more
of the past--you don't know how you hurt me in speaking of it. Talk of
the future. I think I can help you, and do you no harm. I think you can
help me, and do me the greatest of all services in return. Wait, and you
shall hear what I mean. Suppose you were married--how much would it cost
for you and your husband to emigrate?"

Louisa mentioned the cost of a steerage passage to Australia for a man
and his wife. She spoke in low, hopeless tones. Moderate as the sum was,
it looked like unattainable wealth in her eyes.

Magdalen started in her chair, and took the girl's hand once more.

"Louisa!" she said, earnestly; "if I gave you the money, what would you
do for me in return?"

The proposal seemed to strike Louisa speechless with astonishment. She
trembled violently, and said nothing. Magdalen repeated her words.

"Oh, ma'am, do you mean it?" said the girl. "Do you really mean it?"

"Yes," replied Magdalen; "I really mean it. What would you do for me in
return?"

"Do?" repeated Louisa. "Oh what is there I would _not_ do!" She tried
to kiss her mistress's hand; but Magdalen would not permit it. She
resolutely, almost roughly, drew her hand away.

"I am laying you under no obligation," she said. "We are serving each
other--that is all. Sit quiet, and let me think."

For the next ten minutes there was silence in the room. At the end of
that time Magdalen took out her watch and held it close to the grate.
There was just firelight enough to show her the hour. It was close on
six o'clock.

"Are you composed enough to go downstairs and deliver a message?" she
asked, rising from her chair as she spoke to Louisa again. "It is a very
simple message--it is only to tell the boy that I want a cab as soon as
he can get me one. I must go out immediately. You shall know why later
in the evening. I have much more to say to you; but there is no time
to say it now. When I am gone, bring your work up here, and wait for my
return. I shall be back before bed-time."

Without another word of explanation, she hurriedly lit a candle and
withdrew into the bedroom to put on her bonnet and shawl.



CHAPTER II.

BETWEEN nine and ten o clock the same evening, Louisa, waiting
anxiously, heard the long-expected knock at the house door. She ran
downstairs at once and let her mistress in.

Magdalen's face was flushed. She showed far more agitation on returning
to the house than she had shown on leaving it. "Keep your place at the
table," she said to Louisa, impatiently; "but lay aside your work. I
want you to attend carefully to what I am going to say."

Louisa obeyed. Magdalen seated herself at the opposite side of the
table, and moved the candles, so as to obtain a clear and uninterrupted
view of her servant's face.

"Have you noticed a respectable elderly woman," she began, abruptly,
"who has been here once or twice in the last fortnight to pay me a
visit?"

"Yes, ma'am; I think I let her in the second time she came. An elderly
person named Mrs. Attwood?"

"That is the person I mean. Mrs. Attwood is Mr. Loscombe's housekeeper;
not the housekeeper at his private residence, but the housekeeper at his
offices in Lincoln's Inn. I promised to go and drink tea with her some
evening this week, and I have been to-night. It is strange of me, is
it not, to be on these familiar terms with a woman in Mrs. Attwood's
situation?"

Louisa made no answer in words. Her face spoke for her: she could hardly
avoid thinking it strange.

"I had a motive for making friends with Mrs. Attwood," Magdalen went on.
"She is a widow, with a large family of daughters. Her daughters are all
in service. One of them is an under-housemaid in the service of Admiral
Bartram, at St. Crux-in-the-Marsh. I found that out from Mrs. Attwood's
master; and as soon as I arrived at the discovery, I privately
determined to make Mrs. Attwood's acquaintance. Stranger still, is it
not?"

Louisa began to look a little uneasy. Her mistress's manner was at
variance with her mistress's words--it was plainly suggestive of
something startling to come.

"What attraction Mrs. Attwood finds in my society," Magdalen continued,
"I cannot presume to say. I can only tell you she has seen better days;
she is an educated person; and she may like my society on that
account. At any rate, she has readily met my advances toward her. What
attraction I find in this good woman, on my side, is soon told. I have a
great curiosity--an unaccountable curiosity, you will think--about
the present course of household affairs at St. Crux-in-the-Marsh. Mrs.
Attwood's daughter is a good girl, and constantly writes to her mother.
Her mother is proud of the letters and proud of the girl, and is ready
enough to talk about her daughter and her daughter's place. That is Mrs.
Attwood's attraction to _me._ You understand, so far?"

Yes--Louisa understood. Magdalen went on. "Thanks to Mrs. Attwood and
Mrs. Attwood's daughter," she said, "I know some curious particulars
already of the household at St. Crux. Servants' tongues and servants'
letters--as I need not tell _you_--are oftener occupied with their
masters and mistresses than their masters and mistresses suppose.
The only mistress at St. Crux is the housekeeper. But there is a
master--Admiral Bartram. He appears to be a strange old man, whose
whims and fancies amuse his servants as well as his friends. One of his
fancies (the only one we need trouble ourselves to notice) is, that he
had men enough about him when he was living at sea, and that now he is
living on shore, he will be waited on by women-servants alone. The one
man in the house is an old sailor, who has been all his life with his
master--he is a kind of pensioner at St. Crux, and has little or nothing
to do with the housework. The other servants, indoors, are all women;
and instead of a footman to wait on him at dinner, the admiral has a
parlor-maid. The parlor-maid now at St. Crux is engaged to be married,
and as soon as her master can suit himself she is going away. These
discoveries I made some days since. But when I saw Mrs. Attwood
to-night, she had received another letter from her daughter in the
interval, and that letter has helped me to find out something more.
The housekeeper is at her wits' end to find a new servant. Her master
insists on youth and good looks--he leaves everything else to the
housekeeper--but he will have that. All the inquiries made in the
neighborhood have failed to produce the sort of parlor-maid whom the
admiral wants. If nothing can be done in the next fortnight or three
weeks, the housekeeper will advertise in the _Times_, and will come
to London herself to see the applicants, and to make strict personal
inquiry into their characters."

Louisa looked at her mistress more attentively than ever. The expression
of perplexity left her face, and a shade of disappointment appeared
there in its stead. "Bear in mind what I have said," pursued Magdalen;
"and wait a minute more, while I ask you some questions. Don't think you
understand me yet--I can assure you, you don't understand me. Have you
always lived in service as lady's maid?"

"No, ma'am."

"Have you ever lived as parlor-maid?"

"Only in one place, ma'am, and not for long there."

"I suppose you lived long enough to learn your duties?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What were your duties besides waiting at table?"

"I had to show visitors in."

"Yes; and what else?"

"I had the plate and the glass to look after; and the table-linen
was all under my care. I had to answer all the bells, except in the
bedrooms. There were other little odds and ends sometimes to do--"

"But your regular duties were the duties you have just mentioned?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How long ago is it since you lived in service as a parlor-maid?"

"A little better than two years, ma'am."

"I suppose you have not forgotten how to wait at table, and clean plate,
and the rest of it, in that time?"

At this question Louisa's attention, which had been wandering more
and more during the progress of Magdalen's inquiries, wandered away
altogether. Her gathering anxieties got the better of her discretion,
and even of her timidity. Instead of answering her mistress, she
suddenly and confusedly ventured on a question of her own.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," she said. "Did you mean me to offer for the
parlor-maid's place at St. Crux?"

"You?" replied Magdalen. "Certainly not! Have you forgotten what I said
to you in this room before I went out? I mean you to be married, and go
to Australia with your husband and your child. You have not waited as
I told you, to hear me explain myself. You have drawn your own
conclusions, and you have drawn them wrong. I asked a question just
now, which you have not answered--I asked if you had forgotten your
parlor-maid's duties?"

"Oh, no, ma'am!" Louisa had replied rather unwillingly thus far. She
answered readily and confidently now.

"Could you teach the duties to another servant?" asked Magdalen.

"Yes, ma'am--easily, if she was quick and attentive."

"Could you teach the duties to Me?"

Louisa started, and changed color. "You, ma'am!" she exclaimed, half in
incredulity, half in alarm.

"Yes," said Magdalen. "Could you qualify me to take the parlor-maid's
place at St. Crux?"

Plain as those words were, the bewilderment which they produced in
Louisa's mind seemed to render her incapable of comprehending her
mistress's proposal. "You, ma'am!" she repeated, vacantly.

"I shall perhaps help you to understand this extraordinary project of
mine," said Magdalen, "if I tell you plainly what the object of it is.
Do you remember what I said to you about Mr. Vanstone's will when you
came here from Scotland to join me?"

"Yes, ma'am. You told me you had been left out of the will altogether.
I'm sure my fellow-servant would never have been one of the witnesses if
she had known--"

"Never mind that now. I don't blame your fellow-servant--I blame nobody
but Mrs. Lecount. Let me go on with what I was saying. It is not at
all certain that Mrs. Lecount can do me the mischief which Mrs. Lecount
intended. There is a chance that my lawyer, Mr. Loscombe, may be able to
gain me what is fairly my due, in spite of the will. The chance turns
on my discovering a letter which Mr. Loscombe believes, and which I
believe, to be kept privately in Admiral Bartram's possession. I have
not the least hope of getting at that letter if I make the attempt in my
own person. Mrs. Lecount has poisoned the admiral's mind against me, and
Mr. Vanstone has given him a secret to keep from me. If I wrote to him,
he would not answer my letter. If I went to his house, the door would
be closed in my face. I must find my way into St. Crux as a stranger--I
must be in a position to look about the house, unsuspected--I must be
there with plenty of time on my hands. All the circumstances are in my
favor, if I am received into the house as a servant; and as a servant I
mean to go."

"But you are a lady, ma'am," objected Louisa, in the greatest
perplexity. "The servants at St. Crux would find you out."

"I am not at all afraid of their finding me out," said Magdalen. "I know
how to disguise myself in other people's characters more cleverly than
you suppose. Leave me to face the chances of discovery--that is my risk.
Let us talk of nothing now but what concerns _you._ Don't decide yet
whether you will, or will not, give me the help I want. Wait, and hear
first what the help is. You are quick and clever at your needle. Can you
make me the sort of gown which it is proper for a servant to wear--and
can you alter one of my best silk dresses so as to make it fit yourself
--in a week's time?"

"I think I could get them done in a week, ma'am. But why am I to wear--"

"Wait a little, and you will see. I shall give the landlady her week's
notice to-morrow. In the interval, while you are making the dresses, I
can be learning the parlor-maid's duties. When the house-servant
here has brought up the dinner, and when you and I are alone in the
room--instead of your waiting on me, as usual, I will wait on you. (I
am quite serious; don't interrupt me!) Whatever I can learn besides,
without hindering you, I will practice carefully at every opportunity.
When the week is over, and the dresses are done, we will leave this
place, and go into other lodgings--you as the mistress and I as the
maid."

"I should be found out, ma'am," interposed Louisa, trembling at the
prospect before her. "I am not a lady."

"And I am," said Magdalen, bitterly. "Shall I tell you what a lady
is? A lady is a woman who wears a silk gown, and has a sense of her own
importance. I shall put the gown on your back, and the sense in
your head. You speak good English; you are naturally quiet and
self-restrained; if you can only conquer your timidity, I have not the
least fear of you. There will be time enough in the new lodging for you
to practice your character, and for me to practice mine. There will be
time enough to make some more dresses--another gown for me, and your
wedding-dress (which I mean to give you) for yourself. I shall have the
newspaper sent every day. When the advertisement appears, I shall answer
it--in any name I can take on the spur of the moment; in your name,
if you like to lend it to me; and when the housekeeper asks me for my
character, I shall refer her to you. She will see you in the position
of mistress, and me in the position of maid--no suspicion can possibly
enter her mind, unless you put it there. If you only have the courage
to follow my instructions, and to say what I shall tell you to say, the
interview will be over in ten minutes."

"You frighten me, ma'am," said Louisa, still trembling. "You take my
breath away with surprise. Courage! Where shall I find courage?"

"Where I keep it for you," said Magdalen--"in the passage-money to
Australia. Look at the new prospect which gives you a husband, and
restores you to your child--and you will find your courage there."

Louisa's sad face brightened; Louisa's faint heart beat quick. A spark
of her mistress's spirit flew up into her eyes as she thought of the
golden future.

"If you accept my proposal," pursued Magdalen, "you can be asked in
church at once, if you like. I promise you the money on the day when the
advertisement appears in the newspaper. The risk of the housekeeper's
rejecting me is my risk--not yours. My good looks are sadly gone off,
I know. But I think I can still hold my place against the other
servants--I think I can still _look_ the parlor-maid whom Admiral
Bartram wants. There is nothing for you to fear in this matter; I should
not have mentioned it if there had been. The only danger is the danger
of my being discovered at St. Crux, and that falls entirely on me. By
the time I am in the admiral's house you will be married, and the ship
will be taking you to your new life."

Louisa's face, now brightening with hope, now clouding again with fear,
showed plain signs of the struggle which it cost her to decide. She
tried to gain time; she attempted confusedly to speak a few words of
gratitude; but her mistress silenced her.

"You owe me no thanks," said Magdalen. "I tell you again, we are only
helping each other. I have very little money, but it is enough for your
purpose, and I give it you freely. I have led a wretched life; I have
made others wretched about me. I can't even make you happy, except by
tempting you to a new deceit. There! there! it's not your fault. Worse
women than you are will help me, if you refuse. Decide as you like, but
don't be afraid of taking the money. If I succeed, I shall not want it.
If I fail--"

She stopped, rose abruptly from her chair, and hid her face from Louisa
by walking away to the fire-place.

"If I fail," she resumed, warming her foot carelessly at the fender,
"all the money in the world will be of no use to me. Never mind
why--never mind Me--think of yourself. I won't take advantage of the
confession you have made to me; I won't influence you against your will.
Do as you yourself think best. But remember one thing--my mind is made
up; nothing you can say or do will change it."

Her sudden removal from the table, the altered tones of her voice as she
spoke the last words, appeared to renew Louisa's hesitation. She clasped
her hands together in her lap, and wrung them hard. "This has come on me
very suddenly, ma'am," said the girl. "I am sorely tempted to say Yes;
and yet I am almost afraid--"

"Take the night to consider it," interposed Magdalen, keeping her face
persistently turned toward the fire; "and tell me what you have decided
to do, when you come into my room to-morrow morning. I shall want no
help to-night--I can undress myself. You are not so strong as I am; you
are tired, I dare say. Don't sit up on my account. Good-night, Louisa,
and pleasant dreams!"

Her voice sank lower and lower as she spoke those kind words. She sighed
heavily, and, leaning her arm on the mantel-piece, laid her head on
it with a reckless weariness miserable to see. Louisa had not left the
room, as she supposed--Louisa came softly to her side, and kissed her
hand. Magdalen started; but she made no attempt, this time, to draw her
hand away. The sense of her own horrible isolation subdued her, at the
touch of the servant's lips. Her proud heart melted; her eyes filled
with burning tears. "Don't distress me!" she said, faintly. "The time
for kindness has gone by; it only overpowers me now. Good-night!"

When the morning came, the affirmative answer which Magdalen had
anticipated was the answer given.

On that day the landlady received her week's notice to quit, and
Louisa's needle flew fast through the stitches of the parlor-maid's
dress.

THE END OF THE SIXTH SCENE.




BETWEEN THE SCENES.

PROGRESS OF THE STORY THROUGH THE POST.


I.

_From Miss Garth to Mr. Pendril._

"Westmoreland House, January 3d, 1848.

"DEAR MR. PENDRIL--I write, as you kindly requested, to report how Norah
is going on, and to tell you what changes I see for the better in the
state of her mind on the subject of her sister.

"I cannot say that she is becoming resigned to Magdalen's continued
silence--I know her faithful nature too well to say it. I can only tell
you that she is beginning to find relief from the heavy pressure of
sorrow and suspense in new thoughts and new hopes. I doubt if she has
yet realized this in her own mind; but I see the result, although she is
not conscious of it herself. I see her heart opening to the consolation
of another interest and another love. She has not said a word to me on
the subject, nor have I said a word to her. But as certainly as I
know that Mr. George Bartram's visits have lately grown more and more
frequent to the family at Portland Place--so certainly I can assure you
that Norah is finding a relief under her suspense, which is not of my
bringing, and a hope in the future, which I have not taught her to feel.

"It is needless for me to say that I tell you this in the strictest
confidence. God knows whether the happy prospect which seems to me to
be just dawning will grow brighter or not as time goes on. The oftener
I see Mr. George Bartram--and he has called on me more than once--the
stronger my liking for him grows. To my poor judgment he seems to be a
gentleman in the highest and truest sense of the word. If I could
live to see Norah his wife, I should almost feel that I had lived long
enough. But who can discern the future? We have suffered so much that I
am afraid to hope.

"Have you heard anything of Magdalen? I don't know why or how it is;
but since I have known of her husband's death, my old tenderness for her
seems to cling to me more obstinately than ever. Always yours truly,

"HARRIET GARTH."


II

_From Mr. Pendril to Miss Garth._

"Serle Street, January 4th, 1848.

"DEAR MISS GARTH--Of Mrs. Noel Vanstone herself I have heard nothing.
But I have learned, since I saw you, that the report of the position in
which she is left by the death of her husband may be depended upon as
the truth. No legacy of any kind is bequeathed to her. Her name is not
once mentioned in her husband's will.

"Knowing what we know, it is not to be concealed that this circumstance
threatens us with more embarrassment, and perhaps with more distress.
Mrs. Noel Vanstone is not the woman to submit, without a desperate
resistance, to the total overthrow of all her schemes and all her hopes.
The mere fact that nothing whatever has been heard of her since her
husband's death is suggestive to my mind of serious mischief to come.
In her situation, and with her temper, the quieter she is now, the more
inveterately I, for one, distrust her in the future. It is impossible
to say to what violent measures her present extremity may not drive her.
It is impossible to feel sure that she may not be the cause of some
public scandal this time, which may affect her innocent sister as well
as herself.

"I know you will not misinterpret the motive which has led me to write
these lines; I know you will not think that I am inconsiderate enough
to cause you unnecessary alarm. My sincere anxiety to see that happy
prospect realized to which your letter alludes has caused me to write
far less reservedly than I might otherwise have written. I strongly urge
you to use your influence, on every occasion when you can fairly exert
it, to strengthen that growing attachment, and to place it beyond the
reach of any coming disasters, while you have the opportunity of doing
so. When I tell you that the fortune of which Mrs. Noel Vanstone has
been deprived is entirely bequeathed to Admiral Bartram; and when I
add that Mr. George Bartram is generally understood to be his uncle's
heir--you will, I think, acknowledge that I am not warning you without a
cause. Yours most truly,

"WILLIAM PENDRIL."


III.

From Admiral Bartram to Mrs. Drake (housekeeper at St. Crux).

"St. Crux, January 10th, 1848.

"MRS. DRAKE--I have received your letter from London, stating that you
have found me a new parlor-maid at last, and that the girl is ready to
return with you to St. Crux when your other errands in town allow you to
come back.

"This arrangement must be altered immediately, for a reason which I am
heartily sorry to have to write.

"The illness of my niece, Mrs. Girdlestone--which appeared to be so
slight as to alarm none of us, doctors included--has ended fatally. I
received this morning the shocking news of her death. Her husband is
said to be quite frantic with grief. Mr. George has already gone to his
brother-in-law's, to superintend the last melancholy duties and I
must follow him before the funeral takes place. We propose to take Mr.
Girdlestone away afterward, and to try the effect on him of change of
place and new scenes. Under these sad circumstances, I may be absent
from St. Crux a month or six weeks at least; the house will be shut up,
and the new servant will not be wanted until my return.

"You will therefore tell the girl, on receiving this letter, that a
death in the family has caused a temporary change in our arrangements.
If she is willing to wait, you may safely engage her to come here in six
weeks' time; I shall be back then, if Mr. George is not. If she refuses,
pay her what compensation is right, and so have done with her. Yours,

"ARTHUR BARTRAM."


IV.

_From Mrs. Drake to Admiral Bartram._

"January 11th.

"HONORED SIR--I hope to get my errands done, and to return to St. Crux
to-morrow, but write to save you anxiety, in case of delay.