her as she leaned against the embrasure of the wide Tudor window, the
sun drawing nearer to the edge of the hills, an orb of yellow flame,
soon to change to a gigantic disk of lurid fire. 'I thought from the old
man's talk that he, too, must be an old servant in our family. He talked
of Maulevrier Castle, and said that I reminded him of a picture by Lely,
a portrait of a Lady Maulevrier.

'It is quite possible that he may have been in service there, though I
do not remember to have heard anything about it,' answered her ladyship,
carelessly. 'The Steadmans come from that part of the country, and
theirs is a hereditary service. Good-night, Mary, I am utterly weary.
Look at that glorious light yonder, that mighty world of fire and flame,
without which our little world would be dark and dreary. I often think
of that speech of Macbeth's, "I 'gin to be aweary of the sun." There
comes a time, Mary, when even the sun is a burden.'

'Only for such a man as Macbeth,' said Mary, 'a man steeped in crime.
Who can wonder that he wanted to hide himself from the sun? But, dear
grandmother, there ought to be plenty of happiness left for you, even if
your recovery is slow to come. You are so clever, you have such
resources in your own mind and memory, and you have your grandchildren,
who love you dearly,' added Mary, tenderly.

Her nature was so full of pity that an entirely new affection had grown
up in her mind for Lady Maulevrier since that terrible evening of the
paralytic stroke.

'Yes, and whose love, as exemplified by Lesbia, is shown in a hurried
scrap of a letter scrawled once a week--a bone thrown to a hungry dog,'
said her ladyship, bitterly.