eminds the traveller of the
summer that is over, so the widow's words and ways brought back to
Selene the long lost love and care of her good mother; and something
soothing mingled in the bitterness of the pain she was suffering. She
looked gratefully at the kind woman and obediently sat still; it was
such a comfort once more to obey an order, and to obey willingly--to
feel herself a child again and to be grateful for loving care.

Hannah went away, and Mary knelt down in front of Selene to loosen and
remove the straps which were half buried in the swelled muscles. She did
it with the greatest caution, but her fingers had hardly touched her,
when Selene shrank back with a groan, and before she could undo the
sandal, the patient had fainted away. Mary fetched some water and bathed
her brow, and the burning wound in her head, and by the time Selene
had once more opened her eyes, dame Hannah had returned. When the widow
stroked her thick soft hair, Selene looked up with a smile and asked:
"Have I been to sleep?"

"You shut your eyes my child," replied the widow. "Here are your wages
and your sister's, for twelve days; do not move, I will put it in your
little bag. Mary has not succeeded in loosening your sandal, but the
physician who is paid to attend on the factory people will be here
directly, and will order what is proper for your poor foot. The manager
is having a litter fetched for you.--Where do you live?"

"We?" cried Selene, alarmed. "No, no, I must go home."

"But my child you cannot walk farther than the court-yard even if we
both help you."

"Then let me get a litter out in the street. My father--no one must
know--I cannot."

Hannah signed to Mary to leave them, and when she had shut the door on
the deformed girl, she brought a stool, sat down opposite to Selene,
laid a hand on the knee that was not hurt, and said:

"Now, dear girl, we are alone. I am no chatterbox, and will certainly
not betray your confidence. Tell me quietly who you belong to. Tell
me--you believe that I mean well by you?"

"Yes," replied Selene, looking the widow full in the face--a
regularly-cut face, set in abundant smooth brown hair, and with the
stamp of genuine and heart-felt goodness. "Yes--you remind me of my
mother."

"Well, I might be your mother."

"I am nineteen years old already."

"Already," replied Hannah, with a smile. "Why my life has been twice as
long as yours. I had a child, too, a boy; and he was taken from