Faith sprang down from her high perch without an instant of hesitation.
"Let me take her to the cloak-room, please, Miss Fairbanks," she begged. "Miss Jennings is my friend—do, please, let me take her."
"Nonsense! Get back to your desk this instant, packer! If she is too sick to go alone one of the cash girls can take her. Come, hurry along; there are customers coming."
Faith gave a despairing sob as she climbed back to her seat. Miss Jennings was desperately ill—she was sure of it.
Suddenly it occurred to her what a really brave fellow Mr. Watkins was. She had heard Mr. Forbes tell him to have Miss Jennings discharged, yet for two days he had disregarded the order.
That, and the picture of the young man in Miss Jennings' purse told Faith a story as plain as words could have done. The two were lovers, she was positive of it, she began to wonder if Mr. Watkins knew of his sweetheart's condition.
"Move faster there, packer!" called Miss Fairbanks crossly. "Can't you see the lady is waiting for her parcel while you are loitering?"
"Oh, I am in no hurry at all, madam," said a calm, lady-like voice. "Do not hurry the poor girl, please. She is probably tired."
"She has no right to be tired at this time in the morning"—Miss Fairbanks was trying to be polite, but her voice was still snappy.
"Are you never tired at this hour?" asked the lady, calmly. "I frequently wake tired, and from no especial reason. In this case I should think it surprising if she ever felt rested."