's
breakfast. She could recall the dainty, white egg-shell china, the squat
silver service bearing the Carnavon arms, and the film of lace which she
used to throw around her ladyship's shoulders, lifting her hair to give
it room. The butler would bring the tray to the door, and Martha would
carry it herself to the bedside, where she would be met with the
cry, "Must I get up?" or the more soothing greeting of, "Oh, you good
Martha--well, give me my wrapper!"

The delicate porcelain and heirloom silver were missing now, and so
was the filmy lace, but the tired mistress, could sleep as long as she
pleased, thank Heaven! and the same loving care be given her. And the
meal could be as nicely served, even though the thick cup cost but a
penny and the tea was poured from an earthen pot kept hot on the stove.

Martha's deft hands relieved her mistress, too, of many other little
necessary duties, such as the repair of her clothes; having them
carefully laid out for the morning so that the nap might be prolonged
and time be given for the care of the beautiful hair and frail hands;
helping her dress; serving her breakfast, and getting her ready for the
day's work. These services over, Martha would move the small pine table
close to the sill of the window, where the light was better, spread a
clean white towel over its top, and sit beside her while she sewed.

This restful, almost happy, life had been rudely shaken, if not entirely
wrecked, by Stephen's visit. Up to that time, Lady Barbara--who had been
nearly three weeks with Martha--had not only delighted in her work,
but had shown an enviable pride in keeping pace with her employer's
engagements, often working rather late into the night to finish her
allotment on time.

The particular work uppermost in her mind on the night Stephen had
called was the repairing of a costly Spanish mantilla which had
been picked up in Spain by one of Rosenthal's customers. Through the
carelessness of a packer, it had been badly slashed near the centre--an
ugly, ragged tear which only the most skilful of needles could restore.
Mangan, some days before, had given it to her to repair with special
instructions to return it at a given time, when he had agreed to deliver
it to its owner. It was with a sudden gripping of her heart, therefore,
that Martha on her return from an errand at noon had found the mantilla,
promised for that very afternoon at three o'clock, lying neglected on
the table, Lady B