II. The Attic

The maid sat in the kitchen, wondering why Miss Thorne did not
come down. It was almost seven o'clock, and Miss Hathaway's
breakfast hour was half past six. Hepsey did not frame the
thought, but she had a vague impression that the guest was lazy.

Yet she was grateful for the new interest which had come into her
monotonous life. Affairs moved like clock work at Miss
Hathaway's--breakfast at half past six, dinner at one, and supper
at half past five. Each day was also set apart by its regular
duties, from the washing on Monday to the baking on Saturday.

Now it was possible that there might be a change. Miss Thorne
seemed fully capable of setting the house topsy-turvy--and Miss
Hathaway's last injunction had been: "Now, Hepsey, you mind Miss
Thorne. If I hear that you don't, you'll lose your place."

The young woman who slumbered peacefully upstairs, while the rest
of the world was awake, had, from the beginning, aroused
admiration in Hepsey's breast. It was a reluctant, rebellious
feeling, mingled with an indefinite fear, but it was admiration
none the less.

During the greater part of a wondering, wakeful night, the
excited Hepsey had seen Miss Thorne as plainly as when she first
entered the house. The tall, straight, graceful figure was