"The way she will get up and go to market, my dears, after such a night as that," pursued Mrs Marcella, who always ran on her own line of rails, and never shunted to avoid collision; "you never saw anything like her--the amount she can bear! She's as tough as a rhinoceros, and as strong as an elephant, and as wanting in feeling as--as--" "A sensitive plant," popped in Mrs Jane. "Now, Marcella, open your mouth and shut your eyes, and take this." "Is it castor oil?" faintly screamed the invalid, endeavouring to protect herself. "Stuff! 'Tis good Tent wine. Take it and be thankful." "Where did you get it, Jane?" "Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies," said Mrs Jane. "It was honestly come by." "Well, I think we must be going, Mrs Marcella," said Rhoda, rising. "Oh, my dear! Must you, really? And so seldom as you come to see a poor thing like me, who hasn't a living creature to care for her--except Jane, of course, and she doesn't, not one bit! Dear! And to think that I was once a pretty young maid, with a little fortune of my own; and there was many a young gentleman, my dear, that would have given his right hand for no more than a smile from me--" "Heyday! how this world is given to lying!" interpolated Mrs Jane. "And we were a large family then--eight of us, my dear; and now they are all dead, and I am left quite alone, except Jane, you know. Oh dear, dear, but to think of it! But there is no thankfulness in the world, nor kindness neither. The people I have been good to! and now that I have _come down_ a little, to see how they treat me! Jane doesn't mind it; she has no tender feelings at all; she can stand all things, and never say a word, I am sure I don't know how she does it. I am all feeling! These things touch me so keenly. But Jane's just like a stone. Well, good evening, my dear, if you must go. I think you might have come a little sooner, and you might come oftener, if you would. But that is always my lot, to be neglected and despised--a poor, lonely, ugly old maid, that nobody cares for. And it wasn't my fault, I am sure; I never chose such a fate. I cannot think why such afflictions have been sent me. I am sure I am no worse than other people. Clarissa is a great deal vainer than I am; and Jane is ever so much harder; and as to Dorothy, why, 'tis misery to see her--she is so cheerful and full of mirth, and she has not a thing to be content with--it quite hurts me to see anyone like that. But people are so wanting in feeling! I am sure--" "Go, if you want," said Mrs Jane, shortly, holding the door open. "Oh, yes, go! Of course you want to go!" lamented Mrs Marcella. "What pleasure can there be to a bright young maid like you, to sit with a poor, sick, miserable creature like me? Dear, dear! And only to think--" Rhoda escaped. Phoebe followed, more slowly. Mrs Jane came out after them, and shut the door behind them.