Why should he keep her? She wasn't one of his children, he had quite enough of his own. Sometimes of an evening, when Esther could escape from her drudgery for a few minutes, her mother would step round, and mother and daughter, wrapped in the same shawl, would walk to and fro telling each other their troubles, just as in old times. But these moments were few. In grimy lodging-houses she worked from early morning till late at night, scrubbing grates, preparing bacon and eggs, cooking chops, and making beds. She had become one of those London girls to whom rest, not to say pleasure, is unknown, who if they should sit down for a few moments hear the mistress's voice, "Now, Eliza, have you nothing to do, that you are sitting there idle?" Two of her mistresses, one after the other, had been sold up, and now all the rooms in the neighbourhood were unlet, no one wanted a "slavey," and Esther was obliged to return home. It was on the last of these occasions that her father had taken her by the shoulders, saying——

"No lodging-houses that want a slavey? I'll see about that. Tell me, first, have you been to 78?"

"Yes, but another girl was before me, and the place was taken when I arrived."

"I wonder what you were doing that you didn't get there sooner; dangling about after your mother, I suppose! Well, what about 27 in the Crescent?"

"I couldn't go there—that Mrs. Dunbar is a bad woman."

"Bad woman! Who are you, I should like to know, that you can take a lady's character away? Who told you she was a bad woman? One of the Scripture-readers, I suppose! I knew it was. Well, then, just get out of my house."

"Where shall I go?"

"Go to hell for all I care. Do you hear me? Get out!"

Esther did not move—words, and then blows. Esther's escape from her stepfather seemed a miracle, and his anger was only appeased by Mrs. Saunders promising that Esther should accept the situation.

"Only for a little while. Perhaps Mrs. Dunbar is a better woman than you think for. For my sake, dearie. If you don't he may kill you and me too."

Esther looked at her one moment, then she said, "Very well, mother, to-morrow I'll take the place."

No longer was the girl starved, no longer was she made to drudge till the thought of another day was a despair and a terror. And seeing that she was a good girl, Mrs. Dunbar respected her scruples. Indeed, she was very kind, and Esther soon learnt to like her, and, through her affection for her, to think less of the life she led. A dangerous point is this in a young girl's life. Esther was young, and pretty, and weary, and out of health; and it was at this critical moment that Lady Elwin, who, while visiting, had heard her story, promised Mrs. Saunders to find Esther another place. And to obviate all difficulties about references and character, Lady Elwin proposed to take Esther as her own servant for a sufficient while to justify her in recommending her.

And now, as she turned over her books—the books she could not read—her pure and passionate mind was filled with the story of her life. She remembered her poor little brothers and sisters and her dear mother, and that tyrant revenging himself upon them because of the little she might eat and drink. No, she must bear with all insults and scorn, and forget that they thought her as dirt under their feet. But what were such sufferings compared to those she would endure were she to return home? In truth they were as nothing. And yet the girl longed to leave Woodview. She had never been out of sight of home before. Amid the violences of her stepfather there had always been her mother and the meeting-house. In Woodview there was nothing, only Margaret, who had come to console and persuade her to come downstairs. The resolution she had to call out of her soul to do this exhausted her, and she went downstairs heedless of what anyone might say.

Two and three days passed without anything occurring that might suggest that the Fates were for or against her remaining.