"Yes, dear, perhaps I shall; but you know, even if the worst happens--oh, but we shall manage somehow, depend upon it, we shall manage somehow."
But Nancy's youthful philosophy did not tend to check the flow of Mrs. Macdonald's troubled spirit. A whole week went by, which she passed chiefly in tears, and in drawing gloomy pictures of the details of the life which would soon, soon be hers. "I shall have to wear a poke bonnet and a shawl," she remarked, in a doleful tone one day, "and I never could bear a shawl, even when they were in fashion--horrid cold things." At meals, of course, poor lady, she had to keep a cheerful countenance, so that her guests should not suspect how badly things were going with them; but Nancy noticed that she ate very little, and like most young people, her chief idea for a panacea for all woes took the form of food. In Mrs. Macdonald's case, it took the form of fresh tea and hot buttered toast; and, really, I would be sorry to say how much tea was used in that household during those few days, by way of bolstering its mistress's strength and spirits against what might happen in the immediate future.
The fortnight of grace soon passed away, and with every day Mrs. Macdonald's spirits sank lower and lower. She looked old and aged and worn; and Nancy's heart ached when she realised that there was no prospect of anything turning up, and apparently no chance of the danger which threatened them being averted. What money had come in had mostly been imperatively required to meet daily expenses. It seemed preposterous that people with a large house as they had should be in such straits for so small a sum; and yet, if they began selling their belongings, which, with the exception of the cameo brooch and Mrs. Macdonald's keeper ring, almost entirely consisted of furniture, she knew that it would be impossible to replace them, or even to dispose of them without the knowledge of their guests. She hardly liked to suggest it to her mother, and yet she felt that when the last day came, she would have no other course open to her.
It was the evening before the last day of grace, and still the needful sum had not been set aside. Twice during the day Mrs. Macdonald had subsided in tears and wretchedness into the old armchair by their little sitting-room fire, while Nancy had brought her fresh fragrant tea and a little covered plate of hot buttered toast, and had delicately urged her to decide between selling the precious brooch and appealing to one or other of the boarders for an advance payment.
"I will just wait till the morning," she said to herself, as she came down from the drawing-room after dispensing the after-dinner coffees.
"Nancy! Nancy!" cried her younger sister Edith, at that moment. "Where are you?"
"I am here, dear," Nancy replied. "What is the matter?"
The child, for Edith was only some thirteen or fourteen years old, came running up the stairs two steps at a time.
"Here's a letter for you, Nancy," she said eagerly.
"A letter?" cried Nancy, her mind flying at once to her story.