"
"I never had that confidence in my lady to expect anything," Prentiss
said.
"Oh, mother, don't say that: many and many a day you've said, 'When my
lady dies--'"
"And we've all said it," said Jervis. "I can't think how she did it, nor
why she did it; for she was a kind lady, though appearances is against
her."
"She was one of them, and I've known a many, as could not abide to see a
gloomy face," said the housekeeper. "She kept us all comfortable for the
sake of being comfortable herself, but no more."
"Oh, you are hard upon my lady!" cried Jervis, "and I can't bear to hear
a word against her, though it's been an awful disappointment to me."
"What's you or me, or any one," cried Mrs. Prentiss, "in comparison of
that poor little thing that can't work for her living like we can; that
is left on the charity of folks she don't belong to? I'd have forgiven my
lady anything, if she'd done what was right by Miss Mary. You'll get a
place, and a good place; and me, they'll leave me here when the new folks
come as have taken the house. But what will become of her, the darling?
and not a penny, nor a friend, nor one to look to her? Oh, you selfish
old woman! oh, you heart of stone! I just hope you are feeling it where
you're gone," the housekeeper cried.
But as she said this, the woman did not know who was looking at her with
wide, wistful eyes, holding out her hands in appeal, receiving every word
as if it had been a blow,--though she knew it was useless.
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