“Entertain and amuse yourself, then, as well as you can, until I come back in the evening; then, my love,” whispered Mark, stealthily pressing her hand to his heart, as he left her.
The landlady rattled and clattered the dishes, and bustled about between table, cupboard, and cooking-stove, until she had cleared away the dinner-service. And then she proceeded to wash off the stove, raising a more offensive vapour than before. Then she swept the floor again; then she got a tub of water and a mop, and washed it all over. And then, after wiping and putting away the tub, and pan, and mop, and doing numberless other “last jobs,” she finally cleansed her own face and hands, put on a clean apron, and sat down to nurse her baby, and talk to Rosalie. But by this time the afternoon was so far spent, that the poor woman had not rested half an hour before it was time to get up, fire up the cooking-stove once more, and prepare supper for her family and her boarders, who would be back, she said, at six.
Rosalie was sympathetically fatigued, only to witness her labours, and she could not refrain from saying, as she once more took charge of the fretful, teething child—
“Indeed, you have a great deal to do. I do not know how you have strength to go through so much.”
“Ah! you will know after a bit; wait a little. Lord, child, this is nothing at all! wait till wash-day,” said the hostess, putting a great tray of flour on the table, and preparing to make bread.
And once more the process of cooking went on, with the same accompaniments of melting heat, stifling vapour, &c. And again the horn sounded, and the company gathered; but this time Mark Sutherland did not appear during the whole course of the meal—no, nor after it was over.
The table was cleared away, the room once more put in order, the candles lighted for the evening, and the men gathered in the kitchen, with their pipes, but still Mark did not come.
The landlady was rocking her baby to sleep, and entering at intervals into the conversation. At last she arose, and put her child to bed, and asked Rosalie if she should not like to be shown to her sleeping-room.
Rosalie replied in the affirmative; and the hostess lighted a candle and conducted her through the middle passage, and up the stairs, and opened a door to the right of the landing, leading into a large room, unplastered, and nearly unfurnished. The room was divided in the middle by a temporary partition of hanging blankets. In the first division there were two double beds, covered with coarse patch-work quilts. The hostess passed between these, and, putting aside the blankets, led her guest to the interior division, which was smaller, and contained only one bed, covered like the others.
“You are to sleep here. Is there anything you want?” she asked, setting down the candle on a chest that served as toilet-table and washstand.