The Real Charlotte. 69 



able flies buzzed on the closed window, and in the slant of 

 sunlight tiiat fell through the dim panes was a box from 

 which a turkey reared its red throat, and regarded her with 

 a suspicion born, Hke her chickens, of long hatching. 

 Charlotte closed the door and noiselessly opened the next. 

 There was nothing in the room, which was of the ordinary 

 low-ceiled cottage type, and after a calculating look at the 

 broken flooring and the tattered wall-paper, she went quietly 

 out into the passage agam. '* Good servants' room," she 

 said to herself, " but if she's here much longer it'll be past 

 praying for." 



If she had been in any doubt as to Miss Duffy's where- 

 abouts, a voice from the room at the end of the little 

 passage now settled the matter. " Is that Peggy ? " it 

 called 



Charlotte pushed boldly into the room with the bowl of 

 gruel. 



'' No, Miss Duff'y, me poor old friend, it's me, Charlotte 

 Mullen," she said in her most cordial voice ; " they told me 

 below you were ill, but I thought you'd see me, and I 

 brought your gruel up in my hand. I hope you'll like it 

 none the less for that ! " 



The invalid turned her night-capped head round from the 

 wall and looked at her visitor with astonished, bloodshot 

 eyes. Her hatchety face was very yellow, her long nose was 

 rather red, and her black hair thrust itself out round the 

 soiled frill of her night-cap in dingy wisps. 



" You're welcome. Miss Mullen," she said with a pitiable 

 attempt at dignity ; " won't you take a cheer ? " 



" Not till I've seen you take this," replied Charlotte, 

 handing her the bowl of gruel with even broader bonhomie 

 than before. 



Julia Duffy reluctantly sat up among her blankets, con- 

 scious almost to agony of the squalor of all her surroundings, 

 conscious even that the blankets were of the homespun, 

 madder-dyed flannel such as the poor people use, and tak- 

 ing the gruel, she began to eat it in silence. She tried to 

 prop herself in this emergency with the recollection that 

 Charlotte Mullen's grandfather drank her grandfather's port 

 wine under this very roof, and that it was by no fault of hers 

 that she had sunk while Charlotte had risen ; but the worn- 



