"Very; I must see Mr. Fortescue to-night."
"Come your ways in, then," said the woman, kindly; "there's a bit of fire in his sitting-room, if you would like to wait there."
Marjorie thanked her gratefully, and she led the way into a small room at the back of the house, and, after putting some coal on the fire, she told her to sit by it and warm herself after her cold, wet walk. Then, as she was going out, she noticed how drenched Marjorie's coat was, and made her take it off that she might dry it at her kitchen fire.
When the landlady was gone, Marjorie looked round the room. It was very plainly and even shabbily furnished. A worn horse-hair sofa stood against the wall, the deal table was covered with American cloth, the carpet was patched in several places.
Marjorie walked to the window and looked out. No wonder the room was dark! High buildings backed upon the house and shut out nearly all the light. Only a strip of cloudy sky could be seen above, whilst below was a small courtyard filled with clothes, which had evidently been put out to dry before the rain commenced, but which were now more soaked than they had been before, and hung dismally from the line stretched across from wall to wall of the small backyard.
How dull it all was! How poor, how depressing! She remembered his words to her mother, "I will not allow myself in a single indulgence of any kind, till the full amount is in your hands."
How faithfully he was keeping that promise! How bare of all luxury was the room to which he came home after his long tiring day!
But what was that over the chimney-piece,—a photo in a frame? It carried her miles away in thought as she looked at it, and a great feeling of home-sickness came over her.
It was a picture of Honister Crag.