would be but a drop in the ocean if you
were to melt them down to ornament that
harness. And then the bonnet she had
on. And leaning back with such an
elegant kind of a loll against the cushions.
She was painted," said poor Miss Turtle,
making a faint little protest on behalf of
her own self-respect. She at least was
never painted. But she added almost
immediately with a profound sigh, "But I
have been told they all do it in high
life."

Still old Mrs. Plew kept her lips closed,
and her head shook tremulously. In a
few minutes the surgeon came in. Miss
Turtle looked at his mother as though
expecting her to speak of the note from
Shipley Magna. But the old woman said
not a word.

"There's a—a—note for you, Mr.
Benjamin," said Miss Turtle, timidly; and at
the same instant his eye lighted on it as it
lay on the table. He took it up quickly,
and walked to the window as though to
get a better light as he read it, turning his
back on the two women.

"Where is the messenger?" he asked,
looking round. "There is mention here of
a man and gig waiting to take me back."

"The man said he'd be here again in an
hour, Mr. Benjamin. We thought—that
is, your mother expected you back by
then."

"I must wait for him then, I suppose,"
said Mr. Plew, pulling out his watch, and
beginning to walk softly up and down the
room. "It's a—a—patient. The—Princess
Barletti, in fact. She is not very well, and
wishes to see me. It really is very good of
you to give my mother so much of your
company, Miss Turtle."

Then Mrs. Plew unclosed her lips and
spake.

"Benjy, love, don't you go."

"Mother!"

"Benjy, darling, don't you go."

"Not go to see a patient when I am sent
for!"

"Benjy, love, I don't believe she's ill a
bit more than you are. Nor so bad either,
if feelings could count. And if she is bad
let her send for Doctor Gunnery from
Danecester, and not for them that she's
treated so heartless, and cruel, and shameful."

Mr. Plew had turned ashy pale, and was
standing quite still, staring at his mother.
The little governess sat with clasped hands
and parted lips, glancing nervously from
one to the other. She was dumb-foundered
at Mrs. Plow's unexampled boldness and
eloquence. The wooden needles clicked
and rattled in the old woman's trembling
hands. A bright red spot burned on each
withered cheek; and she went on in a
strained voice unlike her natural soft
tones.

"Shameful, and cruel, and heartless she's
treated one that she's not worthy to tie his
shoestring! A painted, wanton thing,
playing her airs to break an honest man's
heart! A man that might have had a good
loving wife, and good loving children at
his knee but for her. Beauty! Why
there's women in the world, common, plain-
looking women, with common coarse clothes
on their backs, that to my eyes seem as
beautiful as the saints and angels beside
her! She's bad; bad, and wicked, and
wanton! And a painted—"

She stopped suddenly with the opprobrious
word on her lips. Her son, without
uttering a syllable, had dropped into a chair
and covered his face with his hands. The
governess cowered, awe-stricken and trembling
like a frightened bird. The knitting
fell from the old woman's hands. She sat
as still as though she had been turned to
stone for a minute or so, looking at her son.
Then all at once she got up, went to him,
and put her hand on his bowed head.

"Benjy," she said, "my own dear boy,
forgive your poor old mother! And may
God forgive her for saying a word to hurt
the best son that ever mortal woman bore
into this world! I don't know what came
over me, Benjy. I couldn't help it. 'Twas
as if I fain must speak. I'll not say another
word, love; not another word. Oh, my
boy, don't be angry with your poor mother.
I shan't be here to trouble you long! And
—Benjy—'twas only because I love you so,
my own dear darling." Mr. Plew removed
one hand from his face, and put it out to
take his mother's. She raised it to her
lips and kissed it. "Thank you, my boy,"
she said, with pathetic humility. And then
—with all the angry flush gone from her
face, and the tears streaming down it—she
feebly tottered out of the room. Miss
Turtle rose and followed her to the door.
There she turned and said in a quite
placid, almost cheerful, tone, "You needn't
be anxious about your mother, Mr. Benjamin.
I'll stay with her, and look after
her whilst you're gone. Your mother's
used to me. And for me it's a real
pleasure to do anything for her; it is indeed!"

"God bless you for your kindness. I