She is clothed in a rich tea-gown of a delicate green. She is writing diligently and seems intent on her work but she occasionally looks up to address a word or two to a delicate looking little girl of about three years who is playing on the hearth with a little fox terrier. This is little Nellie, the only child, a pale-faced fair-haired little thing, who has attained her third year today.
At length it grows too dark to see, so closing her blotter with a snap, Helen walks to the window and holding aside the heavy velvit curtain gazes out accross the frost-bitten garden and the roofs of the houses, which are dotted about the town of B——.
"Dear me" she says "it is beginning to snow, I think dear" she adds turning to her child "it is time you went up to the nursery tea will be ready I expect."
So saying she rings a bell and Marshland appears, looking very different to when we last saw her, in her black dress and clean cap and apron. Having stuck to Helen in the hour of trial she now finds herself the much-respected nurse of little Nellie.
Nellie having departed to the upper regions, Helen once more resumes her writing, this time by the aid of a large standing lamp. By and bye a servent enters with some tea. "Is Mr. Lincarrol in yet?" enquires Helen. "No m'am I think not" replies the servent. "oh then I shant expect him till late" answers Helen and so saying she partakes of her tea alone, which done she goes to the piano and plays a few merry sonatas. At length the clock strikes seven, and Helen is about to go and dress for dinner, when the butler enters with the message that a woman from the village of Huntsdown (5 miles distant) wishes to see her at once on a very important matter.
"Who is the woman?" askes Helen in great astonishment.
"I dont know mum" replies the butler "she is very poor-looking and says she's tramped all the way from Huntsdown to see you, but she wont give no name."
"How extraordinary!" says Helen, "I know no one living in Huntsdown, in fact I have only been there once; but however I will go and see the poor soul." and rising as she speaks Helen vanishes into the hall.
An old woman of about 60 or 70 is standing
in a remote corner of the hall. The butler
had spoken truthfully when he said the woman was poor looking. She wears a tattered dress of some faded hue, and on the top of that a man's coat, which might once have been black but is now almost bottle-green. A thin shawl coveres her shoulders and a battered black bonnet hangs back from her head. Her iron-grey hair is streaming over her face, still damp with the falling snow.
"Did you wish to speak to me" asks Helen kindly advancing to the woman.