Chapter III.


Mrs. Presty Changes Her Mind.


The two ladies were alone.

Widely as the lot in life of one differed from the lot in life of
the other, they presented a contrast in personal appearance which
was more remarkable still. In the prime of life, tall and
fair--the beauty of her delicate complexion and her brilliant
blue eyes rivaled by the charm of a figure which had arrived at
its mature perfection of development--Mrs. Linley sat side by
side with a frail little dark-eyed creature, thin and pale, whose
wasted face bore patient witness to the three cruelest privations
under which youth can suffer--want of fresh air, want of
nourishment, and want of kindness. The gentle mistress of the
house wondered sadly if this lost child of misfortune was capable
of seeing the brighter prospect before her that promised
enjoyment of a happier life to come.

"I was afraid to disturb you while you were resting," Mrs. Linley
said. "Let me hope that my housekeeper has done what I might have
done myself, if I had seen you when you arrived."

"The housekeeper has been all that is good and kind to me,
madam."

"Don't call me 'madam'; it sounds so formal--call me 'Mrs.