“Of course not,” Lucy replied. “If you have lived in a lonely house on a hillside, you are sure to be a brave woman. It must be rather eerie in such places on wild, dark, winter nights.” “The winds and the darkness are the servants of the Almighty,” returned the Highland woman. “But wherever there be peoples, there be bad peoples.” “Ay, but good ones also,” said Lucy. “And all people are in God’s hand, as well as all forces of nature.” Clementina Gillespie did not answer, and Lucy somehow felt that she did not quite agree. It struck her, however, that conversation having taken such a turn was a sufficient proof that this person was on a different intellectual level from all the other servants she had seen lately. It was equally clear that if Clementina were never to be more cheerful than she was at present, she might be a little depressing. Yet Lucy recollected that she had come from a father’s grave and a broken-up home, and was a stranger in surroundings utterly alien to her previous ways and thoughts. Besides there would be Tom to keep the house alive with mirth and laughter. Lucy was not sorry to be able to ask Jane Smith whether it would put her to any inconvenience to leave before her “notice month” had expired, or whether she would like to do so. Of course, in either case she would get her wage the same, but badly as the girl had behaved, Lucy was reluctant to evict her if the home was of any importance to her. “Oh, no, mum, I’ll go to-morrow if you like, mum,” was Jane’s answer. “I’ve got a place waiting for me the minute you can do without me. They’ll be glad to have me so soon.” Lucy allowed herself to ask no question then. Nobody had inquired about Jane’s character. But if she had taken a place in the country it might be in her own village, and might have been secured by some other line of introduction. But when the day of departure came, Lucy felt it to be her duty as a mistress to know where the girl was going. So she inquired gently— “Have you far to go, Jane?” “No, mum,” was the curt answer, with no information vouchsafed. “Shall you want a cab? Or are your boxes to be called for by the railway people?” Lucy persisted. “I don’t want no cab, mum. A friend of mine’s coming to give me a hand. You needn’t trouble about me, mum.” Lucy and Hugh were seated at their tea, when the black-bearded man came whistling up the street and descended the area steps. Jane was waiting for him. One or two loud laughs were heard, followed by bumping sounds. He had laden himself with Jane’s big trunk, and she followed with a tin box and a brown paper parcel. She had not relented, nor come to the parlour even for a civil “Good evening.” As she followed her trunk and its bearer, she turned and looked in at the dining-room window with a mocking smile.