Meta had occupied, and yet she had a longing to be there.

They gained the top at last, and as they crossed the threshold of the
chamber a dash of rain beat suddenly against the windows. Elsie's hands
were clasped together tightly under her cloak. She was thinking of those
winter nights when Meta lay here shivering with Jamie by her side; she
thought of the lonely hours, when the house was still, and the weary
worker had sat up to mend the little garments which should keep the cold
from the boy. It was such a meagre tale which Meta had told. But Elsie,
with her woman's heart and quick intelligence, could fill in all the
details.

The sunshine followed the rain. While she stood musing in silence a
light broke through the clouds and shone right into the room. That light
brought with it a sudden feeling of Sabbath calm and peace. The
wonderful inner consciousness (which seems to be wanting in some
natures) received a message of quietness and comfort, and Elsie knew,
with quiet certainty, that Meta's sufferings were not worthy to be
compared with the bright rest which she had won.

They only stayed for a few minutes upstairs, and then went down in
silence. As Elsie, a little tired now, was passing out into the square
again the widow suddenly recalled her. "There's an old lady in Wardour
Street who used to know Mrs. Penn," she said; "a Mrs. Beaton. She keeps
her son's house. You'd find her at No. 127."

In a moment Elsie's weariness was forgotten. The sun was shining; it was
still early in the afternoon; her time was all her own. She thanked the
civil widow, and turned her steps at once towards Wardour Street.

If she had not been so deeply absorbed in her purpose she must have
paused, arrested by the quaint things which were displayed in Beaton's
window. It was not, perhaps, more fascinating than other windows in that
wonderful street, but it had a great store of delicate ivory carvings
and lovely mosaics. Yet Elsie merely gave a passing glance at these
treasures, and, passing swiftly into the dim interior of the shop, asked
if she could see Mrs. Beaton.

A sallow man, who was young without youthfulness, looked at her with an
expression of surprise. She began to explain the object of her visit. "I
am in search of a Mrs. Penn," she said frankly. "I have been to the
house in Soho Square which she used to occupy, and I was directed here."

"We knew Mrs. Penn," the man answered; "but my mother seldom sees
people. Howeve