When the house was quiet, Griselda returned to her desk, and slowly and deliberately finished her letter. It was not long, and covered only one side of the sheet. Then it was folded with care to make the edges fit in nicely, and nothing remained but to seal it; and she was about to light the little taper, and get the old seal from the corner of her desk, when a tap at the door was followed by Graves's entrance with a tray.
"Your supper," she said shortly, "Miss Griselda."
Graves's voice and manner were so unusual that Griselda started up.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "Why do you look so miserable? Was she trying your patience—you poor dear old Graves—past bearing? Graves, why don't you speak?" But Graves's mouth was close shut, and she looked as if determined not to answer. "Look, Graves, I have written a letter to Mr. Travers, and told him what Lady Betty said to me; that is, I told him she said she would cast me off, unless I did as she chose in a matter which I could not explain in a letter, but connected with Sir Maxwell Danby."
"She can't cast you off! You were left to her in the will for maintenance. I do know that much."
"Yes!" Griselda said vehemently—"yes! like any other of my uncle's goods and chattels! Oh, I am free now!—I am free!—or shall be soon! I will not think of vexing matters to-night of all nights! What a dainty little supper! I like oyster-patties. Ah! that reminds me of your promise, Graves. Have you been to Crown Alley? Did you take the soup? and were you kind in your manner to the poor little girl? Graves, did you go?"
"Yes, Miss Griselda, I went."
"And what did you think? Had I made too much of the misery, and want, and wretchedness of that poor man?"
"No, Miss Griselda—no, my dear!" said Graves.
"I must go again in a day or two, and you shall come with me."