an unworthy life. If you look for them,
my dear Anna, you will find them. My last wish before we part is, that
you may be quick to see, and ready to do them honour, and to prize them
as they should be prized. Bless you, my dear!"

Miss Milverton had felt what she said so deeply, that the tears stood in
her eyes, as she finished her speech and kissed her pupil for the last
time.

Anna returned the kiss affectionately, and as she followed her governess
out into the hall and opened the door for her, she was quite sorry to
think that she had so often been tiresome at her lessons. Perhaps she
had helped to make Miss Milverton's face so grave and her voice so sad.
Now she should not see her any more, and there was no chance of doing
better.

For full five minutes after she had waved a last good-bye, Anna remained
in a sober mood, looking thoughtfully at all the familiar, dingy objects
in the schoolroom, where she and Miss Milverton had passed so many
hours. It was not a cheerful room. Carpet, curtains, paper, everything
in it had become of one brownish-yellow hue, as though the London fog
had been shut up in it, and never escaped again. Even the large globes,
which stood one on each side of the fireplace, had the prevailing tinge
over their polished, cracked surfaces; but as Anna's eye fell on these,
her heart gave a sudden bound of joy. She would never have to do
problems again! She would never have to pass any more dull hours in
this room, with Miss Milverton's grave face opposite to her, and the
merest glimpses of sunshine peering in now and then over the brown
blinds. No more sober walks in Kensington Gardens, where she had so
often envied the ragged children, who could play about, and laugh, and
run, and do as they liked. There would be freedom now, green fields,
flowers, companions perhaps of her own age. Everything new, everything
gay and bright, no more dullness, no more tedious days--after all, she
was glad, very glad!

It was so pleasant to think of, that she could not help dancing round
and round the big table all alone, snapping her fingers at the globes as
she passed them. When she was tired, she flung herself into Miss
Milverton's brown leather chair, and looked up at the clock, which had
gone soberly on its way as though nothing were to be changed in Anna's
life. She felt provoked with its placid face. "To-morrow at this
time," she said to it, half aloud, "I shan't be here, and Miss Milverto