"I must tell you, sir, who our Elsie was," said her ladyship, who had caught and did not like the word "friend." "She had been my maid; but we found her so conscientious, nice-mannered, and well-informed, that she almost occupied the position of nursery governess to the younger children. We were all very much attached to her, and when she married we gave her a watch, which Lady Eleanor supposes must be the same as this. The marriage was not a happy one, and we opposed it as long as we could. After some time she went to India, and thence I think to China, with her husband. For many years we have heard nothing of her, though I think we fancied we saw his name among those lost in a terrible shipwreck some years ago. It was a sad story altogether. Poor Elsie! Do you remember how anxious we used to be about her, girls?"
"It was only the other day I was thinking of her, and wondering what had become of the little baby. You know I was its god-mother, and she was called after me."
"Yes, indeed, I had forgotten," said Lady Waterham; "but perhaps, sir, you would kindly tell us what you know about our former protégée."
Mr. Smith told the sad tale with which our readers are acquainted as briefly as he could. At the end there was a pause, and then her ladyship said—
"Poor foolish girl! She would not take my advice, and I foresaw that her end would not be happy."
"Our poor dear Elsie!" said Lady Constance, her eyes overflowing. "It was a sad day for her when she first saw that horrid man Damer; her head was quite turned afterwards."
"At all events my baby godchild is living, and a credit to me apparently," said Lady Eleanor.
"And the boy?" said the clergyman.
There was a pause. The Ladies Constance and Eleanor looked at each other, and then at their mother.
"I have not mentioned the boy," said her ladyship; "but that is the most painful part of the subject. He is not Elsie's brother at all; and what is worse, it was never exactly known who he was. About four months after the marriage a poor woman came to the village. She said her name was Damer, and inquired for Elsie's husband. He was very much put out by her appearance, but at once took a lodging for her, where the poor thing had a baby, and died immediately after. Damer said the woman was his only sister, and accordingly that he must take the child. At the time Elsie seemed to have no doubts, but every one else talked about it. Some said the woman was his wife, and others—you can imagine what they said. Shortly after that they left the neighbourhood, and we never saw Elsie again. Her husband, I must tell you, was a mechanical engineer, and considered an excellent workman. He got a capital appointment in India after he left Leeds, and Elsie wrote to tell us she was going with him. It was then I so strongly urged her to stay at home with the children; but she would not be guided, and merely wrote to say she had placed them with some people in the north of Ireland, where, I think, she came from herself."