'Yes, Miss?'
'How can you help yourself?'
'I can do what other girls have done.'
'What do you mean?'
'Some of us starve on needlework. Some take to the streets. Some end it in the river. If there is no other chance for me, I think I shall try that way,' said the poor creature, as quietly as if she was speaking of some customary prospect that was open to her. 'There will be nobody to be sorry for me—and, as I have read, drowning is not a very painful death.'
'You shock me, Fanny! I, for one, should be sorry for you.'
'Thank you, Miss.'
'And try to remember,' Iris continued, 'that there may be chances in the future which you don't see yet. You speak of what you have read, and I have already noticed how clearly and correctly you express yourself. You must have been educated. Was it at home? or at school?
'I was once sent to school,' Fanny replied, not quite willingly.
'Was it a private school?'
'Yes.'
That short answer warned Iris to be careful.
'Recollections of school,' she said good-humouredly, 'are not the pleasantest recollections in some of our lives. Perhaps I have touched on a subject which is disagreeable to you?'
'You have touched on one of my disappointments, Miss. While my mother lived, she was my teacher. After her death, my father sent me to school. When he failed in business, I was obliged to leave, just as I had begun to learn and like it. Besides, the girls found out that I was going away, because there was no money at home to pay the fees—and that mortified me. There is more that I might tell you. I have a reason for hating my recollections of the school—but I mustn't mention that time in my life which your goodness to me tries to forget.'
All that appealed to her, so simply and so modestly, in that reply, was not lost on Iris. After an interval of silence, she said:
'Can you guess what I am thinking of, Fanny?'
'No, Miss.'
'I am asking myself a question. If I try you in my service shall I never regret it?'
For the first time, strong emotion shook Fanny Mere. Her voice failed her, in the effort to speak. Iris considerately went on.
'You will take the place,' she said, 'of a maid who has been with me for years—a good dear creature who has only left me through ill-health. I must not expect too much of you; I cannot hope that you will be to me what Rhoda Bennet has been.'
Fanny succeeded in controlling herself. 'Is there any hope,' she asked, 'of my seeing Rhoda Bennet?'
'Why do you wish to see her?'
'You are fond of her, Miss—-that is one reason.'
'And the other?'
'Rhoda Bennet might help me to serve you as I want to serve you; she might perhaps encourage me to try if I could follow her example.' Fanny paused, and clasped her hands fervently. The thought that was in her forced its way to expression. 'It's so easy to feel grateful,' she said—'and, oh, so hard to show it!'
'Come to me,' her new mistress answered, 'and show it to-morrow.'
Moved by that compassionate impulse, Iris said the words which restored to an unfortunate creature a lost character and a forfeited place in the world.
CHAPTER XV
MR. HENLEY'S TEMPER
PROVIDED by nature with ironclad constitutional defences against illness, Mr. Henley was now and then troubled with groundless doubts of his own state of health. Acting under a delusion of this kind, he imagined symptoms which rendered a change of residence necessary from his town house to his country house, a few days only after his daughter had decided on the engagement of her new maid.
Iris gladly, even eagerly, adapted her own wishes to the furtherance of her father's plans. Sorely tried by anxiety and suspense, she needed all that rest and tranquillity could do for her. The first week in the country produced an improvement in her health. Enjoying the serene beauty of woodland and field, breathing the delicious purity of the air—sometimes cultivating her own corner in the garden, and sometimes helping the women in the lighter labours of the dairy—her nerves recovered their tone, and her spirits rose again to their higher level.
In the performance of her duties the new maid justified Miss Henley's confidence in her, during the residence of the household in the country.
She showed, in her own undemonstrative way, a grateful sense of her mistress's kindness. Her various occupations were intelligently and attentively pursued; her even temper never seemed to vary; she gave the servants no opportunities of complaining of her. But one peculiarity in her behaviour excited hostile remark, below- stairs. On the occasions when she was free to go out for the day, she always found some excuse for not joining any of the other female servants, who might happen to be similarly favoured. The one use she made of her holiday was to travel by railway to some place unknown; always returning at the right time in the evening. Iris knew enough of the sad circumstances to be able to respect her motives, and to appreciate the necessity for keeping the object of these solitary journeys a secret from her fellow-servants.
The pleasant life in the country house had lasted for nearly a month, when the announcement of Hugh's approaching return to England reached Iris. The fatal end of his father's long and lingering illness had arrived, and
