She spoke in a slow, somewhat indifferent tone, as if she did not care
to put herself out of the way about it. Indeed it was not Mrs. Verner's
custom to put herself out of the way for anything. She liked to eat,
drink, and sleep in undisturbed peace; and she generally did so.

"John's impatient because he wants to get it over," spoke up that
gentleman himself in a merry voice. "Fifty thousand things I have to do,
between now and to-morrow night. If they don't bring the clothes soon,
I shall close the boxes without them, and leave them a legacy for Fred."

"You have only yourself to thank, John," said his mother. "You never
gave the things out until after breakfast this morning, and then
required them to be done by the afternoon. Such nonsense, to say they
had grown yellow in the drawers! They'll be yellower by the time you get
there. It is just like you! driving off everything till the last moment.
You have known you were going for some days past."

John was stamping upon a box to get down the lid, and did not attend to
the reproach. "See if it will lock, Fred, will you?" said he.

Frederick Massingbird stooped and essayed to turn the key. And just then
Mrs. Tynn entered with a tray of clean linen, which she set down. Rachel
followed, having a contrivance in her hand, made of silk, for the
holding of needles, threads, and pins, all in one.

She looked positively beautiful as she held it out before Mrs. Verner.
The evening rays fell upon her exquisite face, with its soft, dark eyes
and its changing colour; they fell upon her silk dress, a relic of Mrs.
Verner's--but it had no crimson stripes across it; upon her lace collar,
upon the little edge of lace at her wrists. Nature had certainly