Even the home had to be sold to satisfy the creditors, and when this was done Emilia, a child of eighteen, faced the world with a shrinking heart. She had in her purse barely £5; the few trinkets she had possessed had been sold; she had set great store upon them, and was amazed to discover that their value was so small. For the last, last time she walked through the familiar rooms, and touched the walls, and knelt by her bed; and then she crept out of the house and proceeded to the two rooms she had taken in a street hard by. It would have quite broken her heart to go out of the neighborhood in which she and her dear father had lived. Upon the first news of the dreadful loss she had sustained friends came and sympathized with her, but when it was known that her father died a ruined man, the sympathy expressed proved to be mere vaporing; those who had spoken so softly and kindly came no more. Emilia did not appeal to them; when they met her in the streets, and passed by with hasty nods, she did not stop and ask the reason why. Her heart was sorely wounded, but her pride also was touched. The offence and the slight were more against the dead than the living, and she suffered chiefly for the dear lost father's sake. She went to her lodgings, and looked around at the cold walls until she could look no more for the tears in her eyes. She lived quietly and sadly for two weeks, at the end of which time she had but a guinea left of her £5. A terrible fear took possession of her. What would become of her when her purse was empty? She had not been entirely idle, but had made some efforts to obtain a situation as governess. She could speak French and German fluently; she could draw, she could paint, she was a good musician, she could dance, and her manners were refined. But with all these advantages she was unsuccessful. And now she had but a guinea to her fortune, and the future was before her. She took refuge in prayer; it comforted, but it was of no practical assistance to her. Sunrise and sunset, sunrise and sunset again, and again, and again; and now her purse was empty. But she was saved from absolute despair. At the supreme moment a visitor knocked at her door, and entered without waiting to be bidden. Call her a lady if you will, our business with her will last but a brief space. Her name was Seaton. "I hear, Miss Braham, that you require a situation," said Mrs. Seaton, unceremoniously. "Yes, madam," said Emilia, her hand at her heart. This hard-featured, hard-voiced visitor had surely been sent from heaven to succor her. "Will you be seated?" Mrs. Seaton took a chair without a word of thanks. "Have you been out before?" "Out, madam?" says Emilia. Unused to worldly ways and idioms, she did not catch the meaning of the phrase. "I suppose you have had other situations," explained Mrs. Seaton, with ungracious condescension. "No, madam." "That is not encouragement. You have no character, then."