It happened that Bessie was just now servantless. There was Mr. Scawthorne's breakfast only half prepared; Jane had to see to it herself, and herself take it upstairs. Then Bessie must go to bed, or assuredly she would be so ill that unheard-of calamities would befall the infants. Jane would have an eye to everything; only let Jane be trusted.
The miserable day passed; after trying in vain to sleep, Bessie walked about her sitting-room with tear-swollen face and rumpled gown, always thinking it possible that Sam had only played a trick, and that he would come. But he came not, and again it was night.
At eight o'clock Mr. Scawthorne's bell rang. Impossible for Bessie to present herself; Jane would go. She ascended to the room which had once—ah, once!—been her own parlour, knocked and entered.
"I—I wished to speak to Mrs. Byass," said Scawthorne, appearing for some reason or other embarrassed by Jane's presenting herself.
"Mrs. Byass is not at all well, sir. But I'll let her know"
"No, no; on no account."
"Can't I get you anything, sir?"
