could get used to these scenes, poor thing; every time the
general was cross she felt it acutely; he had grown dreadfully cross
since Catherine married. Mrs. Melwyn hardly knew what to do with him, or
how to bear it.

"Good night, my dear, I hope you will sleep comfortably."

"Can I be of any further use to you, madam, to-night."

"Oh, no, thank you; don't come into my dressing-room--Randall is very
particular: she considers _that_ her own territory. She does not like
any one to come in, especially at night; but just let me look whether
your fire burns," she added, entering Lettice's room.

The fire was blazing merrily; Mrs. Melwyn put her candle down upon the
chimney-piece, and stood there a little while before it, looking again
irresolute. It seemed as if she wished, and did not know how, to say
something. Lettice stood at a short distance, respectfully expectant.

"I declare it's very cold to-night," with a little shiver.

"I did not feel it cold, but then this is so thoroughly comfortable a
house."

"Do you think so? Shall you find it so? The wind comes sharply down the
passages sometimes, but I wish, I hope, you won't care much for that ...
or ... or ... or ... any little painful things; they can't be helped,
you know, in this world."

"Ah, madam! if I may venture to say so, there is one good thing one gets
out of great hardships--little things do seem so _very_ little
afterward."

"Ay, if they are really little, but--"

"Things that are ... that don't seem little to people of more gentle
nurture, who have lived in a different way, seem, and are, little to
those who have roughed it till they are themselves roughened. That was
what I intended to say. One is so very happy to escape dreadful, real,
positive distress, that all the rest is like mere play."

Mrs. Melwyn looked at her in a pensive, anxious, inquiring manner. She
wanted to see if she was understood; she saw that she was. She saw
something truly heartening and encouraging in the young girl's
countenance. She shook hands with her and bade her good night very
affectionately, and went to her own dressing-room.

Randall was as cross that night as it was possible for the most
tyrannical servant to be, but some way or other, Mrs. Melwyn did not
feel as if she cared for it _quite_ so much as usual; she had her mind
filled with the image of Lettice. Something so very nice about her--she
thought to herself--in one respect even better than Catherine. Sh