Ten years of hard, unremitting toil and rigid economy passed away before Mrs Connor could realise her ambition of becoming a landlady in the purchase of a small house which contained but four rooms, three of which were rented to lodgers. The increase in the value of her property during the next five years, left the fortunate speculator with a fine profit when she sold her house at the end of that time, and rented a larger one; and as she was an excellent financier, it was not strange that, at the time Joy Irving appeared on the scene, “Mrs Connor’s apartments” were as well and favourably known in Beryngford, if not as distinctly fashionable, as the Palace had been more than twenty years ago. So it was under the roof of her mother’s devoted and faithful mourner that the unhappy young orphan had found a home when she came to hide herself away from all who had ever known her. The landlady experienced the same haunting sensation of something past and gone when she looked on the girl’s beautiful face, which had so puzzled the Baroness; a something which drew and attracted the warm heart of the Irishwoman, as the magnet draws the steel. Time and experience had taught Mrs Connor to be discreet in her treatment of her tenants; to curb her curiosity and control her inclination to sociability. But in the case of Miss Irving she had found it impossible to refrain from sundry kindly acts which were not included in the terms of the contract. Certain savoury dishes found their way mysteriously to Miss Irving’s _ménage_, and flowers appeared in her room as if by magic, and in various other ways the good heart and intentions of Mrs Connor were unobtrusively expressed toward her favourite tenant. Joy had taken a suite of four rooms, where, with her maid, she lived in modest comfort and complete retirement from the social world of Beryngford, save as the close connection of the church with Beryngford society rendered her, in the position of organist, a participant in many of the social features of the town. While Joy was in the midst of her preparations for departure, Mrs Connor made her appearance with swollen eyes and red, blistered face. “And it’s the talk of that ould witch of a Baroness, may the divil run away with her, that is drivin’ ye away, is it?” she cried excitedly; “and it’s not Mrs Connor as will consist to the daughter of your mother, God rest her soul, lavin’ my house like this. To think that I should have had ye here all these years, and never known ye to be her child till now, and now to see ye driven away by the divil’s own! But if it’s the fear of not being able to pay the rint because ye’ve lost your position, ye needn’t lave for many a long day to come. It’s Mrs Connor would only be as happy as the queen herself to work her hands to the bone for ye, remembering your darlint of a mother, and not belavin’ one word against her, nor ye.”