A Charming Family

by George Gissing

　　From The House of Cobwebs and Other Stories (1906).

　　'I must be firm,' said Miss Shepperson to herself, as she poured out hermorning tea with tremulous hand. 'I must really be very firm with them.'Firmness was not the most legible characteristic of Miss Shepperson'sphysiognomy. A plain woman of something more than thirty, she had gentleeyes, a twitching forehead, and lips ever ready for a sympathetic smile.Her attire, a little shabby, a little disorderly, well became the occupantof furnished lodgings, at twelve and sixpence a week, in the unpretentioussuburb of Acton. She was the daughter of a Hammersmith draper, at whosedeath, a few years ago, she had become possessed of a small house and anincome of forty pounds a year; her two elder sisters were comfortablymarried to London tradesmen, but she did not see very much of them, fortheir ways were not hers, and Miss Shepperson had always been one of thosesingular persons who shrink into solitude the moment they feel ill at ease.The house which was her property had, until of late, given her no troubleat all; it stood in a quiet part of Hammersmith, and had long been occupiedby good tenants, who paid their rent (fifty pounds) with exemplarypunctuality; repairs, of course, would now and then be called for, and tothat end Miss Shepperson carefully put aside a few pounds every year.Unhappily, the old tenants were at length obliged to change their abode.The house stood empty for two months; it was then taken on a three years'lease by a family named Rymer--really nice people, said Miss Shepperson toherself after her first interview with them. Mr. Rymer was 'in the City';Mrs. Rymer, who had two little girls, lived only for domestic peace--shehad been in better circumstances, but did not repine, and forgot allworldly ambition in the happy discharge of her wifely and maternal duties.'A charming family!' was Miss Shepperson's mental comment when, at theirinvitation, she had called one Sunday afternoon soon after they weresettled in the house; and, on the way home to her lodgings, she sighed onceor twice, thinking of Mrs. Rymer's blissful smile and the two prettychildren.The first quarter's rent was duly paid, but the second quarter-day broughtno cheque; and, after the lapse of a fortnight, Miss Shepperson wrote tomake known her ingenuous fear that Mr. Rymer's letter might havemiscarried. At once there came the politest and friendliest reply. Mr.Rymer (wrote his wife) was out of town, and had been so overwhelmed withbusiness that the matter of the rent must have altogether escaped his mind;he would be back in a day or two, and the cheque should be sent at theearliest possible moment; a thousand apologies for this unpardonableneglect. Still the cheque did not come; another quarter-day arrived, andagain no rent was paid. It was now a month after Christmas, and MissShepperson, for the first time in her life, found her accounts in seriousdisorder. This morning she had a letter from Mrs. Rymer, the latest of adozen or so, all in the same strain--'I really feel quite ashamed to take up the pen,' wrote the graceful lady,in her delicate hand. 'What must you think of us! I assure you thatnever, never before did I find myself in such a situation. Indeed, I shouldnot have the courage to write at all, but that the end of our troubles isalready in view. It is absolutely certain that, in a month's time, Mr.Rymer will be able to send you a cheque in complete discharge of his debt.Meanwhile, I beg you to believe, dear Miss Shepperson, how very, verygrateful I am to you for your most kind forbearance.' Another page ofalmost affectionate protests closed with the touching subscription, 'everyours, sincerely and gratefully, Adelaide Rymer.'But Miss Shepperson had fallen into that state of nervous agitation whichimpels to a decisive step. She foresaw the horrors of pecuniaryembarrassment. Her faith in the Rymers' promises was exhausted. This verymorning she would go to see Mrs. Rymer, lay before her the plain facts ofthe case, and with all firmness--with unmistakable resolve--make known toher that, if the arrears were not paid within a month, notice to quit wouldbe given, and the recovery of the debt be sought by legal process. Fear hadmade Miss Shepperson indignant; it was wrong and cowardly for people suchas the Rymers to behave in this way to a poor woman who had only justenough to live upon. She felt sure that they could pay if they liked; butbecause she had shown herself soft and patient, they took advantage of her.She would be firm, very firm.So, about ten o'clock, Miss Shepperson put on her best things, and set outfor Hammersmith. It was a foggy, drizzly, enervating day. When MissShepperson found herself drawing near to the house, her courage sank, herheart throbbed painfully, and for a moment she all but stopped and turned,thinking that it would be much better to put her ultimatum into writing.Yet there was the house in view, and to turn back would be deplorableweakness. By word of mouth she could so much better depict the gravity ofher situation. She forced herself onwards. Trembling in every nerve, sherang the bell, and in a scarce audible gasp she asked for Mrs. Rymer. Abrief delay, and the servant admitted her.Mrs. Rymer was in the drawing-room, giving her elder child a piano-lesson,while the younger, sitting in a baby-chair at the table, turned over apicture-book. The room was comfortably and prettily furnished; the childrenwere very becomingly dressed; their mother, a tall woman, of faircomplexion and thin, refined face, with wandering eyes and a foreheadrather deeply lined, stepped forward as if in delight at the unexpectedvisit, and took Miss Shepperson's ill-gloved hand in both her own, gazingwith tender interest into her eyes.'How kind of you to have taken this trouble! You guessed that I reallywished to see you. I should have come to you, but just at present I find itso difficult to get away from home. I am housekeeper, nursemaid, andgoverness all in one! Some women would find it rather a strain, but thedear tots are so good--so good! Cissy, you remember Miss Shepperson? Ofcourse you do. They look a little pale, I'm afraid; don't you think so?After the life they were accustomed to--but we won't talk about that.Tots, school-time is over for this morning. You can't go out, my poordears; look at the horrid, horrid weather. Go and sit by the nursery-fire,and sing "Rain, rain, go away!"'Miss Shepperson followed the children with her look as they silently leftthe room. She knew not how to enter upon what she had to say. To talk ofthe law and use threats in this atmosphere of serene domesticity seemedimpossibly harsh. But the necessity of broaching the disagreeable subjectwas spared her.'My husband and I were talking about you last night,' began Mrs. Rymer, assoon as the door had closed, in a tone of the friendliest confidence. 'Ihad an idea; it seems to me so good. I wonder whether it will to you? Youtold me, did you not, that you live in lodgings, and quite alone?''Yes,' replied Miss Shepperson, struggling to command her nerves andbetraying uneasy wonder.'Is it by choice?' asked the soft-voiced lady, with sympathetic bending ofthe head. 'Have you no relations in London? I can't help thinking you mustfeel very lonely.'It was not difficult to lead Miss Shepperson to talk of hercircumstances--a natural introduction to the announcement which she wasstill resolved to make with all firmness. She narrated in outline thehistory of her family, made known exactly how she stood in pecuniarymatters, and ended by saying--'You see, Mrs. Rymer, that I have to live as carefully as I can. This houseis really all I have to depend upon, and--and--'Again she was spared the unpleasant utterance. With an irresistible smile,and laying her soft hand on the visitor's ill-fitting glove, Mrs. Rymerbegan to reveal the happy thought which had occurred to her. In the housethere was a spare room; why should not Miss Shepperson come and livehere--live, that is to say, as a member of the family? Nothing simpler thanto arrange the details of such a plan, which, of course, must be 'strictlybusinesslike,' though carried out in a spirit of mutual goodwill. A certainsum of money was due to her for rent; suppose this were repaid in the formof board and lodging, which might be reckoned at--should one say, fifteenshillings a week? At midsummer next an account would be drawn up, 'in athoroughly businesslike way,' and whatever then remained due to MissShepperson would be paid at once; after which, if the arrangement provedagreeable to both sides, it might be continued, cost of board and lodgingbeing deducted from the rent, and the remainder paid 'with regularity'every quarter. Miss Shepperson would thus have a home--a real home--withall family comforts, and Mrs. Rymer, who was too much occupied with houseand children to see much society, would have the advantage of a sympatheticfriend under her own roof. The good lady's voice trembled with joyouseagerness as she unfolded the project, and her eyes grew large as shewaited for the response.Miss Shepperson felt such astonishment that she could only reply withincoherencies. An idea so novel and so strange threw her thoughts intodisorder. She was alarmed by the invitation to live with people who weresocially her superiors. On the other hand, the proposal made appeal to hernatural inclination for domestic life; it offered the possibility ofoccupation, of usefulness. Moreover, from the pecuniary point of view, itwould be so very advantageous.'But,' she stammered at length, when Mrs. Rymer had repeated the suggestionin words even more gracious and alluring, 'but fifteen shillings is so verylittle for board and lodging.''Oh, don't let that trouble you, dear Miss Shepperson,' cried the othergaily. 'In a family, so little difference is made by an extra person. Iassure you it is a perfectly businesslike arrangement; otherwise myhusband, who is prudence itself, would never have sanctioned it. As youknow, we are suffering a temporary embarrassment. I wrote to you yesterdaybefore my husband's return from business. When he came home, I learnt, tomy dismay, that it might be rather more than a month before he was ableto send you a cheque. I said: "Oh, I must write again to Miss Shepperson. Ican't bear to think of misleading her." Then, as we talked, that idea cameto me. As I think you will believe, Miss Shepperson, I am not a scheming ora selfish woman; never, never have I wronged any one in my life. Thisproposal, I cannot help feeling, is as much for your benefit as for ours.Doesn't it really seem so to you? Suppose you come up with me and look atthe room. It is not in perfect order, but you will see whether it pleasesyou.Curiosity allying itself with the allurement which had begun to work uponher feelings, Miss Shepperson timidly rose and followed her smiling guideupstairs. The little spare room on the second floor was furnished simplyenough, but made such a contrast with the bedchamber in the Actonlodging-house that the visitor could scarcely repress an exclamation. Mrs.Rymer was voluble with promise of added comforts. She interested herself inMiss Shepperson's health, and learnt with the utmost satisfaction that itseldom gave trouble. She inquired as to Miss Shepperson's likings in thematter of diet, and strongly approved her preference for a plain, nutritiveregimen. From the spare room the visitor was taken into all the others, andbefore they went downstairs again Mrs. Rymer had begun to talk as thoughthe matter were decided.'You will stay and have lunch with me,' she said. 'Oh yes, indeed you will;I can't dream of your going out into this weather till after lunch. Supposewe have the tots into the drawing-room again? I want them to make friendswith you at once. I know you love children.--Oh, I have known that for along time!'Miss Shepperson stayed to lunch. She stayed to tea. When at length she tookher leave, about six o'clock, the arrangement was complete in every detail.On this day week she would transfer herself to the Rymers' house, and enterupon her new life.She arrived on Saturday afternoon, and was received by the assembled familylike a very dear friend or relative. Mr. Rymer, a well-dressed man, polite,good-natured, with a frequent falsetto laugh, talked over the teacups inthe pleasantest way imaginable, not only putting Miss Shepperson at ease,but making her feel as if her position as a member of the household werethe most natural thing in the world. His mere pronunciation of her namegave it a dignity, an importance quite new to Miss Shepperson's ears. Hehad a way of shaping his remarks so as to make it appear that the homely,timid woman was, if anything, rather the superior in rank and education,and that their simple ways might now and then cause her amusement. Even thechildren seemed to do their best to make the newcomer feel at home. Cissy,whose age was nine, assiduously handed toast and cake with a most engagingsmile, and little Minnie, not quite six, deposited her kitten in MissShepperson's lap, saying prettily, 'You may stroke it whenever you like.'Miss Shepperson, to be sure, had personal qualities which could not butappeal to people of discernment. Her plain features expressed a simplicityand gentleness which more than compensated for the lack of conventionalgrace in her manners; she spoke softly and with obvious frankness, nor wasthere much fault to find with her phrasing and accent; dressed a littlemore elegantly, she would in no way have jarred with the tone of averagemiddle-class society. If she had not much education, she was altogetherfree from pretence, and the possession of property (which always works verydecidedly for good or for evil) saved her from that excess of deferencewhich would have accentuated her social shortcomings. Undistinguished asshe might seem at the first glance, Miss Shepperson could not altogether beslighted by any one who had been in her presence for a few minutes. Andwhen, in the course of the evening, she found courage to converse morefreely, giving her views, for instance, on the great servant question, andon other matters of domestic interest, it became clear to Mr. and Mrs.Rymer that their landlady, though a soft-hearted and simple-minded woman,was by no means to be regarded as a person of no account.The servant question was to the front just now, as Mrs. Rymer explained indetail. She, 'of course,' kept two domestics, but was temporarily makingshift with only one, it being so difficult to replace the cook, who hadleft a week ago. Did Miss Shepperson know of a cook, a sensible,trustworthy woman? For the present Mrs. Rymer--she confessed it with apleasant little laugh--had to give an eye to the dinner herself.'I only hope you won't make yourself ill, dear,' said Mr. Rymer, bendingtowards his wife with a look of well-bred solicitude. 'Miss Shepperson, Ibeg you to insist that she lies down a little every afternoon. She hasgreat nervous energy, but isn't really very strong. You can't think what arelief it will be to me all day to know that some one is with her.'On Sunday morning all went to church together; for, to Mrs. Rymer's greatsatisfaction, Miss Shepperson was a member of the orthodox community, andparticular about observances. Meals were reduced to the simplest terms; arestful quiet prevailed in the little house; in the afternoon, while Mrs.Rymer reposed, Miss Shepperson read to the children. She it was who--theservant being out--prepared tea. After tea, Mr. and Mrs. Rymer, with manyapologies, left the home together for a couple of hours, being absolutelyobliged to pay a call at some distance, and Miss Shepperson again took careof the children till the domestic returned.After breakfast the next day--it was a very plain meal, merely a rasher anddry toast--the lady of the house chatted with her friend moreconfidentially than ever. Their servant, she said, a good girl but not veryrobust, naturally could not do all the work of the house, and, by way ofhelping, Mrs. Rymer was accustomed to 'see to' her own bedroom.'It's really no hardship,' she said, in her graceful, sweet-tempered way,'when once you're used to it; in fact, I think the exercise is good for myhealth. But, of course, I couldn't think of asking you to do the same. Nodoubt you will like to have a breath of air, as the sky seems clearing.'What could Miss Shepperson do but protest that to put her own room in orderwas such a trifling matter that they need not speak of it another moment.Mrs. Rymer was confused, vexed, and wished she had not said a word; but theother made a joke of these scruples.'When do the children go out?' asked Miss Shepperson. 'Do you take themyourself?''Oh, always! almost always! I shall go out with them for an hour at eleven.And yet'--she checked herself, with a look of worry--'oh, dear me! I mustabsolutely go shopping, and I do so dislike to take the tots in thatdirection. Never mind; the walk must be put off till the afternoon. Itmay rain; but--'Miss Shepperson straightway offered her services; she would either shop orgo out with the children, whichever Mrs. Rymer preferred. The lady thoughtshe had better do the shopping--so her friend's morning was pleasantlyarranged. In a day or two things got into a happy routine. Miss Sheppersonpractically became nursemaid, with the privilege of keeping her own bedroomin order and of helping in a good many little ways throughout the domesticday. A fortnight elapsed, and Mrs. Rymer was still unable to 'suit herself'with a cook, though she had visited, or professed to visit, manyregistry-offices and corresponded with many friends. A week after that thesubject of the cook had somehow fallen into forgetfulness; and, indeed, aless charitably disposed observer than Miss Shepperson might have doubtedwhether Mrs. Rymer had ever seriously meant to engage one at all. The foodserved on the family table was of the plainest, and not alwayssuperabundant in quantity; but the table itself was tastefully ordered,and, indeed, no sort of carelessness appeared in any detail of thehousehold life. Mrs. Rymer was always busy, and without fuss, withoutirritation. She had a large correspondence; but it was not often thatpeople called. No guest was ever invited to lunch or dinner. All this whilethe master of the house kept regular hours, leaving home at nine andreturning at seven; if he went out after dinner, which happened rarely, hewas always back by eleven o'clock. No more respectable man than Mr. Rymer;none more even-tempered, more easily pleased, more consistently polite andamiable. That he and his wife were very fond of each other appeared in alltheir talk and behaviour; both worshipped the children, and, in spite ofthat, trained them with a considerable measure of good sense. In theevenings Mr. Rymer sometimes read aloud, or he would talk instructively ofthe affairs of the day. The more Miss Shepperson saw of her friends themore she liked them. Never had she been the subject of so much kindattention, and in no company had she ever felt so happily at ease.Time went on, and it was near midsummer. Of late Mrs. Rymer had not beenvery well, and once or twice Miss Shepperson fancied that her eyes showedtraces of tears; it was but natural that the guest, often preoccupied withthe thought of the promised settlement, should feel a little uneasy. OnJune 23 Mrs. Rymer chose a suitable moment, and with her most confidentialair, invited Miss Shepperson to an intimate chat.'I want to explain to you,' she said, rather cheerfully than otherwise,'the exact state of our affairs. I'm sure it will interest you. We havebecome such good friends--as I knew we should. I shall be much easier inmind when you know exactly how we stand.'Thereupon she spoke of a certain kinsman of her husband, an old and infirmman, whose decease was expected, if not from day to day, at all events fromweek to week. The event would have great importance for them, as Mr. Rymerwas entitled to the reversion of several thousands of pounds, held in useby his lingering relative.'Now let me ask you a question,' pursued the lady in friendship'sundertone. 'My husband is quite prepared to settle with you to-morrow. Hewishes to do so, for he feels that your patience has been most exemplary.But, as we spoke of it last night, an idea came to me. I can't helpthinking it was a happy idea, but I wish to know how it strikes you. Onreceiving the sum due to you, you will no doubt place it in a bank, or insome way invest it. Suppose, now, you leave the money in Mr. Rymer's hands,receiving his acknowledgment, and allowing him to pay it, with four percent, interest, when he enters into possession of his capital? Mind, I onlysuggest this; not for a moment would I put pressure upon you. If you haveneed of the money, it shall be paid at once. But it struck me that,knowing us so well now, you might even be glad of such an investment asthis. The event to which we are looking forward may happen very soon; butit may be delayed. How would you like to leave this money, and the sumsto which you will be entitled under our arrangements, from quarter toquarter, to increase at compound interest? Let us make a littlecalculation--'Miss Shepperson listened nervously. She was on the point of saying that, onthe whole, she preferred immediate payment; but while she struggled withher moral weakness Mrs. Rymer, anxiously reading her face, struck anothernote.'I mustn't disguise from you that the money, though such a small sum, wouldbe useful to my husband. Poor fellow! he has been fighting againstadversity for the last year or two, and I'm sure no man ever struggled morebravely. You would never think, would you? that he is often kept awake allnight by his anxieties. As I tell him, he need not really be anxious atall, for his troubles will so soon come to an end. But there is no morehonourable man living, and he worries at the thought of owing money--youcan't imagine how he worries! Then, to tell you a great secret--'A change came upon the speaker's face; her voice softened to a whisper asshe communicated a piece of delicate domestic news.'My poor husband,' she added, 'cannot bear to think that, when it happens,we may be in really straitened circumstances, and I may suffer for lack ofcomforts. To tell you the whole truth, dear Miss Shepperson, I have nodoubt that, if you like my idea, he would at once put aside that money tobe ready for an emergency. So, you see, it is self-interest in me, afterall.' Her smile was very sweet. 'But don't judge me too severely. What Ipropose is, as you see, really a very good investment--is it not?'Miss Shepperson found it impossible to speak as she wished, and before theconversation came to an end she saw the matter entirely from her friend'spoint of view. She had, in truth, no immediate need of money, and the moreshe thought of it, the more content she was to do a kindness to the Rymers,while at the same time benefiting herself. That very evening Mr. Rymerprepared a legal document, promising to pay on demand the sum which becamedue to Miss Shepperson to-morrow, with compound interest at the rate offour per cent. While signing this, he gravely expressed his conviction thatbefore Michaelmas the time for payment would have arrived.'But if it were next week,' he added, with a polite movement towards hiscreditor, 'I should be not a bit the less grateful to our most kindfriend.''Oh, but it's purely a matter of business,' said Miss Shepperson, who wasalways abashed by such expressions.'To be sure,' murmured Mrs. Rymer. 'Let us look at it in that light. But itshan't prevent us from calling Miss Shepperson our dearest friend.'The homely woman blushed and felt happy.Towards the end of autumn, when the domestic crisis was very near, theservant declared herself ill, and at twenty-four hours' notice quitted thehouse. As a matter of fact, she had received no wages for several months;the kindness with which she was otherwise treated had kept her at her postthus long, but she feared the increase of work impending, and preferred togo off unpaid. Now for the first time did Mrs. Rymer's nerves give way.Miss Shepperson found her sobbing by the fireside, the two childrenlamenting at such an unwonted spectacle. Where was a new servant to befound? In a day or two the monthly nurse would be here, and must, ofcourse, be waited upon. And what was to become of the children? MissShepperson, moved by the calamitous situation, entreated her friend toleave everything to her. She would find a servant somehow, and meanwhilewould keep the house going with her own hands. Mrs. Rymer sobbed that shewas ashamed to allow such a thing; but the other, braced by a crisis,displayed wonderful activity and resource. For two days Miss Shepperson didall the domestic labour; then a maid, of the species known as 'general,'presented herself, and none too soon, for that same night there was born tothe Rymers a third daughter. But troubles were by no means over. While Mrs.Rymer was ill--very ill indeed--the new handmaid exhibited a character soeccentric that, after nearly setting fire to the house while in a state ofintoxication, she had to be got rid of as speedily as possible. MissShepperson resolved that, for the present, there should be no repetition ofsuch disagreeable things. She quietly told Mr. Rymer that she felt quiteable to grapple with the situation herself.'Impossible!' cried the master of the house, who, after many sleeplessnights and distracted days, had a haggard, unshorn face, scarcely to berecognised. 'I cannot permit it! I will go myself'Then, suddenly turning again to Miss Shepperson, he grasped her hand,called her his dear friend and benefactress, and with breaking voicewhispered to her--'I will help you. I can do the hard work. It's only for a day or two.'Late that evening he and Miss Shepperson were in the kitchen together: theone was washing crockery, the other, who had been filling coal-scuttles,stood with dirty hands and melancholy visage, his eyes fixed on the floor.Their looks met; Mr. Rymer took a step forward, smiling with confidentialsadness.'I feel that I ought to speak frankly,' he said, in a voice as polite andwell-tuned as ever. 'I should like to make known to you the exact state ofmy affairs.''Oh, but Mrs. Rymer has told me everything,' replied Miss Shepperson, asshe dried a tea-cup.'No; not quite everything, I'm afraid.' He had a shovel in his hand, andeyed it curiously. 'She has not told you that I am considerably in debt tovarious people, and that, not long ago, I was obliged to raise money on ourfurniture.'Miss Shepperson laid down the tea-cup and gazed anxiously at him, whereuponhe began a detailed story of his misfortunes in business. Mr. Rymer was acommission-agent--that is to say, he was everything and nothing. Strugglewith pecuniary embarrassment was his normal condition, but only during thelast twelvemonth had he fallen under persistent ill-luck and come to allbut the very end of his resources. It would still be possible for him, heexplained, to raise money on the reversion for which he was waiting, but ofsuch a step he could not dream.'It would be dishonesty, Miss Shepperson, and, how unfortunate, I havenever yet lost my honour. People have trusted me, knowing that I am anhonest man. I belong to a good family--as, no doubt, Mrs. Rymer has toldyou. A brother of mine holds a respected position in Birmingham, and, ifthe worst comes to the worst, he will find me employment. But, as you canwell understand, I shrink from that extremity. For one thing, I am in debtto my brother, and I am resolved to pay what I owe him before asking forany more assistance. I do not lose courage. You know the proverb: "Loseheart, lose all." I am blest with an admirable wife, who stands by me andsupports me under every trial. If my wife were to die, Miss Shepperson--'He faltered; his eyes glistened in the gas 'But no, I won't encouragegloomy fears. She is a little better to-day, they tell me. We shall comeout of our troubles, and laugh over them by our cheerful fireside--you withus--you, our dearest and staunchest friend.''Yes, we must hope,' said Miss Shepperson, reassured once more as to herown interests; for a moment her heart had sunk very low indeed. 'We are alldoing our best.''You above all,' said Mr. Rymer, pressing her hand with his coal-blackenedfingers. 'I felt obliged to speak frankly, because you must have thought itstrange that I allowed things to get so disorderly--our domesticarrangements, I mean. The fact is, Miss Shepperson, I simply don't know howI am going to meet the expenses of this illness, and I dread the thought ofengaging servants. I cannot--I will not--raise money on my expectations!When the money comes to me, I must be able to pay all my debts, and haveenough left to recommence life with. Don't you approve this resolution,Miss Shepperson?''Oh yes, indeed I do,' replied the listener heartily.'And yet, of course,' he pursued, his eyes wandering, 'we must have aservant--'Miss Shepperson reflected, she too with an uneasy look on her face. Therewas a long silence, broken by a deep sigh from Mr. Rymer, a sigh which wasalmost a sob. The other went on drying her plates and dishes, and said atlength that perhaps they might manage with quite a young girl, who wouldcome for small wages; she herself was willing to help as much as shecould--'Oh, you shame me, you shame me!' broke in Mr. Rymer, laying a hand on hisforehead, and leaving a black mark there. 'There is no end to yourkindness; but I feel it as a disgrace to us--to me--that you, alady of property, should be working here like a servant. It ismonstrous--monstrous!'At the flattering description of herself Miss Shepperson smiled; her softeyes beamed with the light of contentment.'Don't you give a thought to that, Mr. Rymer,' she exclaimed. 'Why, it's apleasure to me, and it gives me something to do--it's good for my health.Don't you worry. Think about your business, and leave me to look after thehouse. It'll be all right.'A week later Mrs. Rymer was in the way of recovery, and her husband went tothe City as usual. A servant had been engaged--a girl of sixteen, who knewas much of housework as London girls of sixteen generally do; at allevents, she could carry coals and wash steps. But the mistress of thehouse, it was evident, would for a long time be unable to do anythingwhatever; the real maid-of-all-work was Miss Shepperson, who rose everymorning at six o'clock, and toiled in one way or another till wearybedtime. If she left the house, it was to do needful shopping or to takethe children for a walk. Her reward was the admiration and gratitude of thefamily; even little Minnie had been taught to say, at frequent intervals:'I love Miss Shepperson because she is good!' The invalid behaved to her asto a sister, and kissed her cheek morning and evening. Miss Shepperson'sname being Dora, the baby was to be so called, and, as a matter of course,the godmother drew a sovereign from her small savings to buy little MissDora a christening present. It would not have been easy to find a house inLondon in which there reigned so delightful a spirit of harmony andkindliness.'I was so glad,' said Mrs. Rymer one day to her friend, the day on whichshe first rose from bed, 'that my husband took you into his confidenceabout our affairs. Now you know everything, and it is much better. You knowthat we are very unlucky, but that no one can breathe a word against ourhonour. This was the thought that held me up through my illness. In a veryshort time all our debts will be paid--every farthing, and it will bedelightful to remember how we struggled, and what we endured, to keep anhonest name. Though,' she added tenderly, 'how we should have done withoutyou, I really cannot imagine. We might have sunk--gone down!'For months Mrs. Rymer led the life of a feeble convalescent. She ought tohave had change of air, but that was out of the question, for Mr. Rymer'sbusiness was as unremunerative as ever, and with difficulty he provided thehousehold with food. One gleam of light kept up the courage of the family:the aged relative was known to be so infirm that he could only leave thehouse in a bath-chair; every day there might be news even yet morepromising. Meanwhile, the girl of sixteen exercised her incompetence in themeaner departments of domestic life, and Miss Shepperson did all the workthat required care or common-sense, the duties of nursemaid alone taking agreat deal of her time. On the whole, this employment seemed to suit her;she had a look of improved health, enjoyed more equable spirits, and in hermanner showed more self-confidence. Once a month she succeeded in getting afew hours' holiday, and paid a visit to one or the other of her sisters;but to neither of them did she tell the truth regarding her position in thehouse at Hammersmith. Now and then, when every one else under the roof wasasleep, she took from a locked drawer in her bedroom a little account-book,and busied herself with figures. This she found an enjoyable moment; it wasvery pleasant indeed to make the computation of what the Rymers owed toher, a daily-growing debt of which the payment could not now be longdelayed. She did not feel quite sure with regard to the interest, but theprincipal of the debt was very easily reckoned, and it would make a nicelittle sum to put by. Certainly Miss Shepperson was not unhappy.Mrs. Rymer was just able to resume her normal habits, to write manyletters, teach her children, pay visits in distant parts of London--thecare of the baby being still chiefly left to Miss Shepperson--when, on apleasant day of spring, a little before lunch-time, Mr. Rymer rushed intothe house, calling in an agitated voice his wife's name. Miss Sheppersonwas the only person at home, for Mrs. Rymer had gone out with the children,the servant accompanying her to wheel baby's perambulator; she ran up fromthe kitchen, aproned, with sleeves rolled to the elbow, and met the excitedman as he descended from a vain search in the bedrooms.'Has it happened?' she cried--for it seemed to her that there could be onlyone explanation of Mr. Rymer's behaviour.'Yes! He died this morning--this morning!'They clasped hands; then, as an afterthought, their eyes fell, and theystood limply embarrassed.'It seems shocking to take the news in this way,' murmured Mr. Rymer; 'butthe relief; oh, the relief! And then, I scarcely knew him; we haven't seeneach other for years. I can't help it! I feel as if I had thrown off a loadof tons! Where is Adelaide? Which way have they gone?'He rushed out again, to meet his wife. For several minutes Miss Sheppersonstood motionless, in a happy daze, until she suddenly remembered that chopswere at the kitchen fire, and sped downstairs.Throughout that day, and, indeed, for several days to come, Mrs. Rymerbehaved very properly indeed; her pleasant, refined face wore a becominggravity, and when she spoke of the deceased she called him poor Mr.So-and-so. She did not attend the funeral, for baby happened to be ailing,but Mr. Rymer, of course, went. He, in spite of conscientious effort toimitate his wife's decorum, frequently betrayed the joy which was in hismind; Miss Shepperson heard him singing as he got up in the morning, andnoticed that he ate with unusual appetite. The house brightened. Before theend of a week smiles and cheerful remarks ruled in the family; sorrows wereforgotten, and everybody looked forward to the great day of settlement.It did not come quickly. In two months' time Mr. Rymer still waited uponthe pleasure of the executors. But he was not inactive. His brother atBirmingham had suggested 'an opening' in that city (thus did Mrs. Rymerphrase it), and the commission-agent had decided to leave London as soon ashis affairs were in order. Towards the end of the third month the familywas suffering from hope deferred. Mr. Rymer had once more a troubled face,and his wife no longer talked to Miss Shepperson in happy strain of herprojects for the future. At length notice arrived that the executors wereprepared to settle with Mr. Rymer; yet, in announcing the fact, hemanifested only a sober contentment, while Mrs. Rymer was heard to sigh.Miss Shepperson noted these things, and wondered a little, but Mrs. Rymer'ssmiling assurance that now at last all was well revived her cheerfulexpectations.With a certain solemnity she was summoned, a day or two later, to a morningcolloquy in the drawing-room. Mr. Rymer sat in an easy-chair, holding abundle of papers; Mrs. Rymer sat on the sofa, the dozing baby on her lap;over against them their friend took her seat. With a little cough and arustle of his papers, the polite man began to speak--'Miss Shepperson, the day has come when I am able to discharge my debt toyou. You will not misunderstand that expression--I speak of my debt inmoney. What I owe to you--what we all owe to you--in another and a highersense, can never be repaid. That moral debt must still go on, and beacknowledged by the unfailing gratitude of a lifetime.''Of a lifetime,' repeated Mrs. Rymer, sweetly murmuring, and castingtowards her friend an eloquent glance.'Here, however,' resumed her husband, 'is the pecuniary account. Will youdo me the kindness, Miss Shepperson, to glance it over and see if you findit correct?'Miss Shepperson took the paper, which was covered with a very neat array offigures. It was the same calculation which she herself had so often made,but with interest on the money due to her correctly computed. The weeklysum of fifteen shillings for board and lodging had been deducted,throughout the whole time, from the rent due to her as landlady. Mr. Rymerstood her debtor for not quite thirty pounds.'It's quite correct,' said Miss Shepperson, handing back the paper with apleased smile.Mr. Rymer turned to his wife.'And what do you say, dear? Do you think it correct?'Mrs. Rymer shook her head.'No,' she answered gently, 'indeed I do not.'Miss Shepperson was startled. She looked from one to the other, and saw ontheir faces only the kindliest expression.'I really thought it came to about that,' fell from her lips. 'I couldn'tquite reckon the interest--''Miss Shepperson,' said Mr. Rymer impressively, 'do you really think thatwe should allow you to pay us for your board and lodging--you, our valuedfriend--you, who have toiled for us, who have saved us from endless troubleand embarrassment? That indeed would be a little too shameless. Thisaccount is a mere joke--as I hope you really thought it. I insist on givingyou a cheque for the total amount of the rent due to you from the day whenyou first entered this house.''Oh, Mr. Rymer!' panted the good woman, turning pale with astonishment.'Why, of course!' exclaimed Mrs. Rymer. 'Do you think it would bepossible for us to behave in any other way? Surely you know us too well,dear Miss Shepperson!''How kind you are!' faltered their friend, unable to decide in herselfwhether she should accept this generosity or not--sorely tempted by themoney, yet longing to show no less generous a spirit on her own side. 'Ireally don't know--'Mr. Rymer imposed silence with a wave of the hand, and began talking in aslow, grave way.'Miss Shepperson, to-day I may account myself a happy man. Listen to a verysingular story. You know that I was indebted to others besides you. I havecommunicated with all those persons; I have drawn up a schedule ofeverything I owe; and--extraordinary coincidence!--the sum-total of mydebts is exactly that of the reversion upon which I have entered, minusthree pounds fourteen shillings.''Strange!' murmured Mrs. Rymer, as if delightedly.'I did not know, Miss Shepperson, that I owed so much. I had forgottenitems. And suppose, after all, the total had exceeded my resources! Thatindeed would have been a blow. As it is, I am a happy man; my wife ishappy. We pay our debts to the last farthing, and we begin the worldagain--with three pounds to the good. Our furniture must go; I cannotredeem it; no matter. I owe nothing; our honour is saved!'Miss Shepperson was aghast.'But, Mrs. Rymer,' she began, 'this is dreadful! What are you going to do?''Everything is arranged, dear friend,' Mrs. Rymer replied. 'My husband hasa little post in Birmingham, which will bring him in just enough to supportus in the most modest lodgings. We cannot hope to have a house of our own,for we are determined never again to borrow--and, indeed, I do not know whowould lend to us. We are poor people, and must live as poor people do. MissShepperson, I ask one favour of you. Will you permit us to leave your housewithout the customary notice? We should feel very grateful. To-day I paySusan, and part with her; to-morrow we must travel to Birmingham. Thefurniture will be removed by the people who take possession of it--'Miss Shepperson was listening with a bewildered look. She saw Mr. Rymerstand up.'I will now,' he said, 'pay you the rent from the day--''Oh, Mr. Rymer!' cried the agitated woman. 'How can I take it? How can Ileave you penniless? I should feel it a downright robbery, that I should!''Miss Shepperson,' exclaimed Mrs. Rymer in soft reproach, 'don't youunderstand how much better it is to pay all we owe, even though it doesleave us penniless? Why, even darling baby'--she kissed it--'would say soif she could speak, poor little mite. Of course you will accept the money;I insist upon it. You won't forget us. We will send you our address, andyou shall hear of your little godchild--'Her voice broke; she sobbed, and rebuked herself for weakness, and sobbedagain. Meanwhile Mr. Rymer stood holding out banknotes and gold. Thedistracted Miss Shepperson made a wild gesture.'How can I take it? How can I? I should be ashamed the longest day Ilived!''I must insist,' said Mr. Rymer firmly; and his wife, calm again, echoedthe words. In that moment Miss Shepperson clutched at the notes and gold,and, with a quick step forward, took hold of the baby's hand, making thelittle fingers close upon the money.'There! I give it to little Dora--there!'Mr. Rymer turned away to hide his emotion. Mrs. Rymer laid baby down on thesofa, and clasped Miss Shepperson in her arms.* * * * *A few days later the house at Hammersmith was vacant. The Rymers wrote fromBirmingham that they had found sufficient, though humble, lodgings, andwere looking for a tiny house, which they would furnish very, very simplywith the money given to baby by their ever dear friend. It may be addedthat they had told the truth regarding their position--save as to onedetail: Mr. Rymer thought it needless to acquaint Miss Shepperson with thefact that his brother, a creditor for three hundred pounds, had generouslyforgiven the debt.Miss Shepperson, lodging in a little bedroom, with an approving conscienceto keep her company, hoped that her house would soon be let again.

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *