Mrs. Moxton was engaged--visitors were with her--Rachel had to wait-- she sat in the hall. A stylish footman, who quickly detected that she was shy and nervous, entertained himself and his companions, by making her ten times more so. His speech was rude--his jests were insolent. Rachel was meek and humble; but she could feel insult; and that pride, from which few of God's creatures are free, rose within her, and flushed her pale cheek with involuntary displeasure. At length, the infliction ceased. Mrs. Moxton's visitors left; Rachel was called in. Her first impulse had been to complain of the footman to his mistress; but mercy checked the temptation; it might make him lose his place. Poor Rachel! she little knew that this footman could have been insolent to his mistress herself, had he so chosen. He was six foot three, and, in his livery of brown and gold, looked splendid. In short, he was invaluable, and not to be parted with on any account. Mrs. Moxton was habitually a well-bred, good-natured woman; but every rule has its exceptions. Rachel found her very much out of temper. To say the truth, one of her recent visitors was in the Mrs. Brown style; Mrs. Moxton had been provoked and irritated; and Rachel paid for it. "Now, Miss Gray," she said, with solemn indignation, "what do you mean by bringing back work in this style? That flounce is at least an inch too high! I thought you an intelligent young person--but really, really!" "It's very easily altered, ma'am," said Rachel, submissively. "You need, not trouble," gravely replied Mrs. Moxton. "I owe you something; you may call with your bill to-morrow." "I shall not be able to call to-morrow, ma'am; and if it were convenient now--" "It is not convenient now!" said Mrs. Morton, rather haughtily. She thought Rachel the most impertinent creature she had ever met with--that is to say, next to that irritating Mrs. Maberly, who had repeated that provoking thing about Mr. So-and-So. Rachel sighed and left the house like all shy persons, she was easily depressed. It was night when she stood once more in the street. Above the pale outline of the houses spread a sky of dark azure. A star shone in it, a little star; but it burned with as brilliant a light as any great planet. Rachel gazed at it earnestly, and the shadow passed away. "What matter!" she thought, "even though a man in livery made a jest of me--even though a lady in silk was scornful. What matter! God made that star for me as well as for her! Besides," she added, checking a thought which might, she feared, be too proud, "besides, who, and what am I, that I should repine?" CHAPTER II.