“You can go upstairs and look at my boxes,” I said indignantly. “Have you spoken to Mr. Rayner about it yet, may I ask, miss?” said she dryly. “Not yet; but I am going to tell him this morning.” “Then would you mind, before you go, miss”--she laid a peculiar emphasis on these words--“asking Mr. Rayner to let me stay? It won’t matter to you, you see; but it’s more to me than I can tell.” And, for the first time during the interview, there was real emotion in her voice. “But what I might say wouldn’t make any difference, Sarah,” I remonstrated gently. “You overrate my importance in this household in the strangest way. My words haven’t half the weight with Mr. Rayner that yours have.” Sarah looked at me eagerly as I said this, but she did not seem satisfied. “That is quite right and natural, as you have been here so long and are so much older too.” She did not like my saying that, I saw, by the tightening of her thin lips; but I certainly had not meant to offend her. However, after a minute’s pause, she said again-- “Then, as you won’t be afraid of your words having any effect, miss, perhaps you will the less mind asking Mr. Rayner to let me stay.” I shrugged my shoulders at her strange persistency; my words would certainly make no difference, and, as I was going away, she would probably stay; so I said-- “Very well; I will ask him.” “You promise, miss?” said she, with a strange light in her eyes. “Gentlefolks like you don’t break their word, I know,” she went on quickly. “So, if you’ll only say ‘I promise,’ I shall know I can trust you, and that you bear no malice.” She must indeed be anxious to obtain what she asked when she could stoop so far as to class me with “gentlefolk.” “I promise,” said I. She might have shown a little gratitude for what she had been so eager to get, I thought; but, as soon as the words had left my lips, she drew herself up from her imploring attitude triumphantly, and, with a simple, cold “Thank you, miss,” left the room. Then I felt as if the study had suddenly grown lighter. Before long Mr. Rayner returned. I said nothing about Sarah’s visit, and nothing about my own departure, until after I had done the very little there was to do in settling the accounts of the penny-bank. This work had been only an excuse for giving me a holiday, because I looked ill, I felt sure; and, when it was finished, Mr. Rayner sent me back to the arm-chair again and poured me out a glass of wine. I began to feel nervous about my announcement. “Have you quite got over your cruel fright now, little woman?” said he kindly. “As much as one can get over a thing like that,” I said, in a low voice, my fingers shaking. “One can’t forget it at once, of course; but I hope that a little care and a little kindness will soon drive that unpleasant adventure right out of your head.”