AS I grew more accustomed to the peculiar light of the dismal looking place into which I had entered, I began to see more clearly the class of articles by which I was surrounded. Garments of all description-some astonishing me by the richness of their texture-lay around me upon all sides. Here was the sable cloak, there the velvet robe. Here the set of real Brussels lace, there the ivory fan. Here the set of choicely bound volumes, there the vases of rare china. And in and out amongst the curious medley were to be found commoner garments of coarser manufacture.
Brooches, bracelets, lockets, scarf-pins and rings of every description lay in profusion in the glass case adjoining the one in which I had been placed. Guns, swords, pistols, richly chased powder-flasks, men's clothes, blankets, sheets, table-cloths and counterpanes were in abundance; but what particularly struck me was, that no customers seemed to avail themselves of this comprehensive store.
Not a single person had entered the shop either in the morning or afternoon of the day since the departure of Mr. Grahame; but as the evening drew on, one and another stole in.
Oh, the tale of want and misery I read upon some of those human faces! Pale, sickly women, with starving children; old, decrepit men, with scarcely strength to enter; a few shabbily dressed people bearing the marks of better days. As the daylight died away, and the newly lighted street lamps shone out in the dull, narrow thoroughfare, visitors became more frequent, and before the shutters were put up for the night, I had discovered that the various customers, though of different external appearances, came but with one object-to sell and not to buy.
“If we don't do much in the day, we make up for it at night," the owner was heard to say to his wife one night after an unusually busy evening. “What a sale we shall have at the close of the year!"
With very slight exceptions each day's scenes appeared to be but a repetition of the one before. Nothing to break the monotony of the weary hours. No bright face to remind me of my much-loved Kate; no soft, sweet voice to tell me that she was near. Three weeks passed away, when one morning Mr. Grahame stepped into the almost empty shop. Laying some pieces of gold upon the counter, he silently produced a small paper, which the sinister looking shopkeeper proceeded to study with evident reluctance; but after a time he appeared to be satisfied with its contents, and after another few moments I was rather roughly taken from the case in which I had remained during the whole of the three weeks.
“There, dear Kate," said Mr. Grahame, as he placed me in his daughter's hands; "I had a little difficulty in getting it again, but I trust that never more you may be caused such a sacrifice through me," And as Kate clasped me tightly in her hand, I saw the bright eyes dimmed with tears which were with difficulty restrained from falling.
From the conversation which took place on that pleasant July evening, I learned that Kate had only that morning received her quarter's salary from Mrs. Monkton, of the Priory, and that the first use she had made of it had been to restore me to her own keeping. It was not that she valued me for ornament, but links of memory connected with my presence were very precious to her affectionate heart.
Few changes had taken place during my brief absence; and in a short time after my restoration, a pleasant restful period of five weeks' holidays followed, which Kate was to spend in the “little spot in Surrey where she would always be welcome." Delightful visits to places of interest in the surrounding neighborhood, made deeply interesting by Mr. Ashworth's animated descriptions of events connected with them, occupied much of their time. But Kate's sweetest enjoyment was to sit out on one of the luxurious garden-chairs, and to hold conversations with her dear old friend concerning the sayings and doings of former times.
“Well, darling, when are you coming back to my nest?" asked Madame playfully of Kate on the morning of the day appointed for her return.
“When I see no other work for me to do, dear Madame," was the reply.
“And when will that be?" inquired Madame, as she with her own hands prepared some sandwiches and placed them in Kate's traveling-bag.
“When the Lord sees fit; not before, dear Madame," replied Kate, as she warmly thanked her friend for her kindness.
"You have enjoyed this nest of mine, have you, darling?" asked Madame, as she closed the door of the cab which my young mistress had entered.
“I cannot tell you how much; thanks, and thanks, and thanks," was the hearty response.
“Well, then, we shall look out for you again soon, darling." And with a parting wave of the hand, Elmtree was left behind.