True. How little interest we all take in our servants; they come and go and we never know that they have any name but one that is most convenient to call them by, and we take no interest in them, hardly enough to know that they possess souls as precious as our own.
"And so, your name is Brentnall, what was your father's name?"
"I don't know, ma'am, as I ever had any, or mother either."
"But you must have had both."
"Oh yes, I suppose I must, to have been born, but I mean I never saw any."
"Where did you live, and who brought you up?"
"I lived with an uncle, near Belfast, and came over with him and his family, and every one of them died of ship fever on the voyage, and when I landed here in this great city, I was utterly alone, and almost penniless. Oh dear!"
"And then Mrs. Meltrand, said, 'Oh dear,' and she went away feeling sad. I do wish I knew what it could be in that name that made her feel so sad. Some reminiscence connected with the loss of her little girl, I suppose. It is very sad, to lose a child by death, it must be very much more sad to have one stolen away, and never know what becomes of it, whether dead or alive; and if the mother should meet her own child in the street not to know it; but dear me, how I am running on while you are eating your supper, as though you had nothing to think of but the things that interest me so much. But if you have been able to eat while I have been talking, come up to my room and see my protégé and hear her story."
So we went up, and found the invalid almost recovered, looking so sweet, for she looked grateful, and that, when it beams out like the sunlight, will make any face look beautiful.
"I told you," said Mrs. Morgan, "about her landing here penniless and alone, and I want she should tell you—there now, there is the bell, how I do hope that is uncle—yes it is—it is; do you hear him talking to Bridget? that is his step, now—"