Elaine hesitated, clasping her thin hands and looking down as if endeavoring to find proper words in which to express herself.
“I’m old, Miss Judith; too old to find work elsewhere. And I’m as poor as Mr. Eliot is. All I can expect at my age is a home, and the work is very little, now that the Darings have most of the house. Besides, I’ve been with the Eliot family so long—forty odd years—that my place seems here, now. I won’t say anything about duty, or my affection for my old master. He was a hard man with others, I know; but I always understood him better than anyone else, and he liked me. When he was taken with paralysis, just after his daughter’s death, there was no one in the world to care for him but me. Even Wallace Daring had quarreled with Mr. Eliot and insulted him. Not a single neighbor offered any assistance, or came near my stricken master. So I stayed.”
It was a fair explanation, Judith considered, and betokened more heart in the old woman than she had been credited with.
“That reminds me, Elaine,” she said, turning the subject abruptly; “I am going to live with the Darings hereafter, and take care of Cousin Molly’s children. I must have one of those vacant rooms off the hall which you have reserved.”
A look of anger and fear swept over old Elaine’s face.
“It won’t do, Miss Judith,” she said positively; “it won’t do at all. I can’t have Mr. Eliot disturbed. I allowed the Darings to live here if they’d promise to keep quiet, but—”
“You allowed!” interrupted Judith, meaningly. “Isn’t that rather impertinent, Elaine?”
“There’s no one to run your uncle’s affairs, but me,” she retorted, unabashed. “I’ve got to protect him in his helpless condition, and I’m going to do it, too!”
“This is nonsense,” returned Judith impatiently. “Nothing that occurs in that part of the house can disturb Uncle Eliot, as you very well know. I shall occupy one of those rooms.”
“I forbid it,” said the woman, her eyes cold and hard, her jaws set and determined.