CHAPTER IV.

ONE SUMMER SUNDAY MORNING.

LIZZIE fastened the back gate securely after her visitor had departed, and returned to her little kitchen well pleased with her evening's work. She put on her cap, thinking that a day or two more only would she have to wear the odious thing, and then she fell to contemplating the grandeur that awaited her. She forgot her supper, forgot the ordinary duties of turning down the beds and making things tidy for the night—forgot everything but the visions conjured up by Mrs. Stanley's ready tongue.

Mrs. Spencer returned earlier than she was expected, and that brought Lizzie back to her present surroundings. For when the lady went upstairs, and saw the bed-room was just as she had left it, she made up her mind that the girl was incorrigible, and would have to be discharged.

"What have you been doing all the evening?" she exclaimed, when Lizzie went up in answer to her call. "I shall have to send you home, I am afraid, unless you behave very differently. Now, understand this, Elizabeth, I give you notice to-night to leave this day month; but if you choose to turn over a new leaf, and do your work in a proper manner, I shall not wish to part with you."

Lizzie tossed her head in an indifferent manner, but made no reply.

Her mistress paid her month's wages the next morning, but deducted sixpence for the broken tumbler as she had threatened, which greatly offended the girl, for she had made up her mind to take the whole twelve shillings to Mrs. Stanley.

On Saturday night, she went to bed as early as she could, for she was afraid of oversleeping herself the next morning. Five o'clock was an early hour to be astir; but she must contrive to dress and be out soon afterwards, for she was to join the Stanleys a mile beyond the town by six. The bonnet and shawl that she was to wear had been thrown over the gate on Friday night, and she had that safely tucked away in her almost empty box. The few remaining articles of her wardrobe she made into a bundle before she went to bed, and then lay down and tried to go to sleep.

But for once sleep refused to come to her eyes. She lay tossing on her pillow, her mind full of doubt now as to whether she had done a wise thing in deciding to run away with this woman. Conscience spoke, and told her it was a wrong and foolish thing to do; but she assured herself she must go on now in the path she had chosen, for she had no clothes to wear, and, therefore, she could not turn back.

A more uncomfortable night Lizzie never spent. She turned from side to side, but sleep she could not; and at last, when she heard the church clock strike two, she decided that she must not go to sleep now, for fear she should not wake up in the morning until it was too late to join her new adviser.

If the silly girl had only known it—could only have peeped a little way into the future, she would have seen that this would have been a merciful interposition of Providence; but she took care not to close her eyes again. She sat up in bed, and then got a light and a book to read. But the book did not interest her, and so she dressed herself in the clean clothes she had put ready. She made this occupy as much time as possible, and brushed and combed her hair for nearly an hour before plaiting it up again. In this way, the time went until daylight came, and then she heard several church clocks strike five, which was the signal for her to go down-stairs.

She put on her bonnet and shawl, but carried her boots in her hand, as well as the bundle, and she did not venture to put on her boots until she was safe outside the back door. There was only the bolt of the garden gate to draw then, and she would be free—free, and on her way to meet the splendid fortune that awaited her!

Once outside and in the street, Lizzie walked on with less fear, though her own echoing footsteps this still Sunday morning almost frightened her. There was not a creature to be seen, not even a milkman had made his appearance yet, and Lizzie had walked some distance before the slow heavy tread of a policeman was heard on the echoing pathway.

Of course he took no notice of the girl, and could not see her face under the close-fitting black silk bonnet, that had evidently been made for some very old lady.

So she sped on, and just as the first strokes of six were sounding through the quiet morning air, Lizzie caught sight of the line of caravans slowly lumbering down a side road from the other end of the town.

She waited for them to come up, and in a few minutes Mrs. Stanley joined her. The woman looked carefully up and down both roads, but finding there was nobody but their own party in sight, she stopped the horse of the smartest-looking caravan, and told the girl to jump in as quickly as she could.

She soon clambered up the steps into the little parlour where she had had her fortune told, and the key was turned upon her, and the horse jogged on again.

For some time Lizzie sat listening to the shaking furniture, and trying to still the throbbing of her head, which now began to ache violently. At last she lay down on the couch hoping to be able to sleep, but the shaking and bumping of the clumsy vehicle effectually prevented that.

At last, about ten o'clock, the whole cavalcade came to a standstill, after a few more bumps and shakes that threatened to overturn them every time, and then, looking out of the little window, Lizzie could see they were at the side of a large common, and preparations were being made for breakfast.

It did not disturb her at first that no one came to unfasten the door. She expected Mrs. Stanley would bring her breakfast as soon as it was ready. Of course they would not expect her to share in the rough-and-ready meal they would provide for themselves. Mrs. Stanley knew what was in store for her—the fortune that awaited her, and would contrive to get the meal as nicely served in consideration of her coming glory.

So Lizzie flattered herself, while she kept down the pangs of hunger which began to make themselves felt in spite of her headache. But an hour passed, and from the glimpse Lizzie could get from the window it seemed as though the meal was over, for boys and girls were lying about on the common, or helping to fetch water for the horses.

At last she concluded they must have forgotten her, and she began rattling the door to try and get out or attract attention. They must hear her, she felt sure, for women's voices sounded quite close; but it was some time before the door was opened.

Then Mrs. Stanley thrust in her head exclaiming, "Now then, what is it?"

Lizzie was annoyed. This was not the sort of greeting she expected to receive. "I should like some breakfast," she said, in a tone intended to be haughty and indignant.

"I daresay you would," said Mrs. Stanley with a short laugh, and then she shut and locked the door again, and left her prisoner to her meditations.

Lizzie waited and waited, but no breakfast came, and at last she lay down on the little sofa and cried herself to sleep.

Repentance had commenced. She had begun to forget her greatness and grandeur under the pangs of hunger and neglect, such as she had thought would never fall to her share again, and there was no room in her small mind for any other feeling than self-pity before she went to sleep. She had not wholly given up faith in the fortune-teller yet. To give up such high hopes all at once would be impossible. But she was angry with Mrs. Stanley, and thought she ought to treat one whom she knew was a favourite of the stars with more consideration.

Not one thought of the poor mother, who, even now, was almost wild with grief and dismay at her sudden disappearance, ever crossed Lizzie's mind yet.

She slept for two or three hours, and was rudely awakened by being rolled off the couch on to the floor. She screamed out loudly, thinking something dreadful had happened. But if her screams were heard, no notice was taken of them; and at length Lizzie regained sufficient consciousness of the past, aided by her present surroundings, to understand that they were on the road again. But looking up, the girl saw that there was a change in the aspect of the place. The windows were only half the size they were before she went to sleep; for now only a few inches at the top admitted daylight, and most of the place was in semi-darkness.

She crept across the jolting van, aided by the rattling furniture, until she reached the door, which she tried to open, but found it was still locked as before.

She began to doubt the kind intentions of her supposed friend now, and burst into tears, still rattling the handle of the door to attract the attention of her jailers.

It was some time, however, before anyone came near her. They were journeying at a good pace, faster than they had come along in the morning; and the thought suddenly came to Lizzie that perhaps some one was in pursuit of her, and they were trying to get out of the way.

Miserable as she was, this thought made her drop the handle of the door, for she did not want to be captured and taken home just as the promised fortune was within her grasp. No, no; anything but that. She would bear this hunger that was gnawing her with what patience she could muster, for fear her rattling the door-handle should attract the attention of anyone passing by.

They were passing through a town, she fancied now, by the sounds that met her ears every now and then, for she could see nothing but the sky from the narrow slits of window left unshuttered. She was left to the miserable company of her own thoughts for an hour or two longer, then the whole cavalcade came to a standstill again, and presently the door was opened.

"I suppose you want your dinner now, don't you?" said Mrs. Stanley as she came in. She carried a couple of thick slices of bread and dripping in her not over-clean hands, which she laid upon the table.

The girl put out her hand to take it; for it was nearly twenty-four hours since she had tasted food, and she was ravenously hungry.

But the woman put her hand upon it before she could do this. "Don't be in a hurry," she said with a grim smile; "we'll settle up first. Give me that twelve shillings your mistress gave you."

Lizzie put her hand into her pocket and took out her purse, not daring to disobey, for the woman's looks almost frightened her.

She turned the silver out into her hand and counted it. "There ain't twelve shillings here," she said throwing the purse on the table. "Come, hand out the other sixpence!"

"I haven't got it," said Lizzie, beginning to cry again.

"What have you done with it, then? Don't tell me no lies, or my Tom shall give you a taste of the horsewhip."

Faint from hunger, and broken-spirited already at her forlorn condition, Lizzie could only sob out her story of the broken tumbler. The woman pretended not to believe such a tale, and made it the excuse for insisting that Lizzie should strip herself that she might search her clothes. To protest was useless; the girl was soon made to do as she was told. And when her nice neat garments, that her mother had taken such pains to make for her, lay in a heap near the door, the woman suddenly opened it and kicked them out, then took a bundle from under her arm which Lizzie had not noticed before, and threw them at her feet.

"You can put them on when you're tired of being without," she said with a short laugh.

Lizzie kicked the clothes from her indignantly. She would not even unroll the bundle to see what it contained, but cowered down upon the couch, feeling herself insulted and outraged, and for the first time suspecting the good intentions of the woman in whose power she had placed herself. She would go away from them, if she was to be treated like this, she thought—she so soon to be a lady to have her clothes taken away from her. She forgot the food on the table in her anguish over this indignity, and sat huddled together crying for nearly an hour before she even looked at the garments that had been provided for her.

She was shivering with cold by that time, and looked eagerly round for the old woollen shawl she had worn in the morning. But it was nowhere to be seen now. Mrs. Stanley had taken that away with her. A little longer she sat crying and bemoaning her sad fate, then she stooped and unrolled the bundle of clothes.

The sight of the coarse, ragged, ill-washed garments brought on a fresh storm of sobs and tears, and Lizzie turned from them in disgust, sobbing out:

"Oh, mother, mother! I wish I was with you now."

But it was herself she pitied—no thought for the pain and anguish she was causing that dear mother came to Lizzie yet.

Cold at length compelled her to put on these evil-smelling garments, and when she was dressed, she ate the bread and dripping and turned to the door again. It opened at her touch now, and Mrs. Stanley, who seemed to be busy at needlework, although it was Sunday evening, was sitting on the steps.

"Eh? You're dressed at last, then," she said. "Your tea is nearly cold, I reckon. Here, Mollie," she called, "bring that mug of tea for the lady," and then Mrs. Stanley broke into a mocking laugh as she surveyed the "lady" in her ragged garments standing at the door of the caravan.

Lizzie retreated inside as the girl brought the tea, for she was ashamed to be seen in such a guise. The girl set down the tea at the top of the steps, and then returned to her employment of breaking up walnut shells into a steaming pot that hung over a fire of brushwood.

Lizzie was thirsty, and eagerly took the half-cold tea. It was weak and smoky, had been slightly sweetened with coarse sugar, but had not a drop of milk in it. The vile decoction almost made her sick after she had swallowed it, and she asked if she could not have some water to drink.

"Water! What next, I wonder? Where do you think we are to get water for you in this place?" said Mrs. Stanley, who sewed on steadily at the pink dress she was making.

Lizzie looked round then, and saw that they were on a wide desolate heath; but she learned from the talk of the men, who were lounging about smoking short black pipes, that they were not going to stay here long, but would recommence their journey again in an hour or two, and would travel on all night in order to reach some race-course in time to commence business the next day.

Was it there she was to meet her fortune, Lizzie wondered. She had heard of "races," and knew they were somehow connected with horses, but beyond this the girl's ideas were of the vaguest description, and she sat there in the doorway of the van wondering how she would have to set about the business.

She was startled by the girl superintending the steaming pot suddenly calling out:

"It's done."

"All right, turn it out to cool," said Mrs. Stanley without looking up from her work.

The whole mess was turned into a pail the next minute, and then the girl lounged off to join her companions, who were quarrelling with some boys of the party over the division of some apples one of them had stolen from a neighbouring orchard.

After a little while, Mrs. Stanley turned and glanced at Lizzie still sitting listlessly in the doorway.

"You can come out of that now," she said gruffly.

But Lizzie had no desire to be seen in her present costume, and said rather shortly, "I don't want to."

"That don't matter. You come out as I tell you, and go and give yourself a good wash in that pail," nodding as she spoke to where the girl had emptied the contents of the pot.

Lizzie looked alarmed. She had always prided herself on her white skin, and she knew the juice of walnut shells would stain it brown.

"Come on," called the woman roughly, seeing her hesitate.

The girl came slowly down the steps.

"If you please, I would rather not," she said meekly, all the pertness taken out of her now.

She stood still at the bottom of the steps, and looked imploringly at the woman she had deemed her benefactor. For answer, Mrs. Stanley dropped her work, seized Lizzie by the arm, and, before she was aware of it, had ducked her head into the pail of warm dye. She let her raise it for a minute or two that the air might dry it a little, and then dipped it again. This process she repeated two or three times, then thrust her arms in, and held her over it while she bathed her neck.

When she had finished she said, "There! Now you'll do. Your own mother wouldn't know you by the time your hair is cut."

And saying this, she returned to her work, leaving Lizzie to do as she pleased now.