The metropolis of Great Britain is, in certain respects, like noother metropolis on the face of the earth. In the population thatthrongs the st reets, the extremes of Wealth and the extremes ofPoverty meet, as they meet nowhere else. In the streetsthemselves, the glory and the shame of architecture--the mansionand the hovel--are neighbors in situation, as they are neighborsnowhere else. London, in its social aspect, is the city ofcontrasts.

Toward the close of evening Emily left the railway terminus forthe place of residence in which loss of fortune had compelled heraunt to take refuge. As she approached her destination, the cabpassed--by merely crossing a road--from a spacious and beautifulPark, with its surrounding houses topped by statues and cupolas,to a row of cottages, hard by a stinking ditch miscalled a canal.The city of contrasts: north and south, east and west, the cityof social contrasts.

Emily stopped the cab before the garden gate of a cottage, at thefurther end of the row. The bell was answered by the one servantnow in her aunt's employ--Miss Letitia's maid.

Personally, this good creature was one of the ill-fated womenwhose appearance suggests that Nature intended to make men ofthem and altered her mind at the last moment. Miss Letitia's maidwas tall and gaunt and awkward. The first impression produced byher face was an impression of bones. They rose high on herforehead; they projected on her cheeks; and they reached theirboldest development in her jaws. In the cavernous eyes of thisunfortunate person rigid obstinacy and rigid goodness looked outtogether, with equal severity, on all her fellow-creatures alike.Her mistress (whom she had served for a quarter of a century andmore) called her "Bony." She accepted this cruelly appropriatenick-name as a mark of affectionate familiarity which honored aservant. No other person was allowed to take liberties with her:to every one but her mistress she was known as Mrs. Ellmother.

"How is my aunt?" Emily asked.

"Bad."

"Why have I not heard of her illness before?"

"Because she's too fond of you to let you be distressed abouther. 'Don't tell Emily'; those were her orders, as long as shekept her senses."

"Kept her senses? Good heavens! what do you mean?"

"Fever--that's what I mean."

"I must see her directly; I am not afraid of infection."

"There's no infection to be afraid of. But you mustn't see her,for all that."

"I insist on seeing her."

"Miss Emily, I am disappointing you for your own good. Don't youknow me well enough to trust me by this time?"

"I do trust you."

"Then leave my mistress to me--and go and make yourselfcomfortable in your own room."

Emily's answer was a positive refusal. Mrs. Ellmother, driven toher last resources, raised a new obstacle.

"It's not to be done, I tell you! How can you see Miss Letitiawhen she can't bear the light in her room? Do you know what colorher eyes are? Red, poor soul--red as a boiled lobster."

With every word the woman uttered, Emily's perplexity anddistress increased.

"You told me my aunt's illness was fever," she said--"and now youspeak of some complaint in her eyes. Stand out of the way, if youplease, and let me go to her."

Mrs. Ellmother, still keeping her place, looked through the opendoor.

"Here's the doctor," she announced. "It seems I can't satisfyyou; ask him what's the matter. Come in, doctor." She threw openthe door of the parlor, and introduced Emily. "This is themistress's niece, sir. Please try if _you_ can keep her quiet. Ican't." She placed chairs with the hospitable politeness of theold school--and returned to her post at Miss Letitia's bedside.

Doctor Allday was an elderly man, with a cool manner and a ruddycomplexion--thoroughly acclimatized to the atmosphere of pain andgrief in which it was his destiny to live. He spoke to Emily(without any undue familiarity) as if he had been accustomed tosee her for the greater part of her life.

"That's a curious woman," he said, when Mrs. Ellmother closed thedoor; "the most headstrong person, I think, I ever met with. Butdevoted to her mistress, and, making allowance for herawkwardness, not a bad nurse. I am afraid I can't give you anencouraging report of your aunt. The rheumatic fever (aggravatedby the situation of this house--built on clay, you know, andclose to stagnant water) has been latterly complicated bydelirium."

"Is that a bad sign, sir?"

"The worst possible sign; it shows that the disease has affectedthe heart. Yes: she is suffering from inflammation of the eyes,but that is an unimportant symptom. We can keep the pain under bymeans of cooling lotions and a dark room. I've often heard herspeak of you--especially since the illness assumed a seriouscharacter. What did you say? Will she know you, when you go intoher room? This is about the time when the delirium usually setsin. I'll see if there's a quiet interval.'

He opened the door--and came back again.

"By the way," he resumed, "I ought perhaps to explain how it wasthat I took the liberty of sending you that telegram. Mrs.Ellmother refused to inform you of her mistress's seriousillness. That circumstance, according to my view of it, laid theresponsibility on the doctor's shoulders. The form taken by youraunt's delirium--I mean the apparent tendency of the words thatescape her in that state--seems to excite some incomprehensiblefeeling in the mind of her crabbed servant. She wouldn't even let_me_ go into the bedroom, if she could possibly help it. Did Mrs.Ellmother give you a warm welcome when you came here?"

"Far from it. My arrival seemed to annoy her."

"Ah--just what I expected. These faithful old servants always endby presuming on their fidelity. Did you ever hear what a wittypoet--I forget his name: he lived to be ninety--said of the manwho had been his valet for more than half a century? 'For thirtyyears he was the best of servants; and for thirty years he hasbeen the hardest of masters.' Quite true--I might say the same ofmy housekeeper. Rather a good story, isn't it?"

The story was completely thrown away on Emily; but one subjectinterested her now. "My poor aunt has always been fond of me,"she said. "Perhaps she might know me, when she recognizes nobodyelse."

"Not very likely," the doctor answered. "But there's no layingdown any rule in cases of this kind. I have sometimes observedthat circumstances which have produced a strong impression onpatients, when they are in a state of health, give a certaindirection to the wandering of their minds, when they are in astate of fever. You will say, 'I am not a circumstance; I don'tsee how this encourages me to hope'--and you will be quite right.Instead of talking of my medical experience, I shall do better tolook at Miss Letitia, and let you know the result. You have gotother relations, I suppose? No? Very distressing--verydistressing."

Who has not suffered as Emily suffered, when she was left alone?Are there not moments--if we dare to confess the truth--when poorhumanity loses its hold on the consolations of religion and thehope of immortality, and feels the cruelty of creation that bidsus live, on the condition that we die, and leads the first warmbeginnings of love, with merciless certainty, to the coldconclusion of the grave?

"She's quiet, for the time being," Dr. Allday announced, on hisreturn. "Remember, please, that she can't see you in the inflamedstate of her eyes, and don't disturb the bed-curtains. The sooneryou go to her the better, perhaps--if you have anything to saywhich depends on her recognizing your voice. I'll call to-morrowmorning. Very distressing," he repeated, taking his hat andmaking his bow--"Very distressing."

Emily crossed the narrow little passage which separated the tworooms, and opened the bed-chamber door. Mrs. Ellmother met her onthe threshold. "No," said the obstinate old servant, "you can'tcome in."

The faint voice of Miss Letitia made itself heard, calling Mrs.Ellmother by her familiar nick-name.

"Bony, who is it?"

"Never mind."

"Who is it?"

"Miss Emily, if you must know."

"Oh! poor dear, why does she come here? Who told her I was ill?"

"The doctor told her."

"Don't come in, Emily. It will only distress you--and it will dome no good. God bles s you, my love. Don't come in."

"There!" said Mrs. Ellmother. "Do you hear that? Go back to thesitting-room."

Thus far, the hard necessity of controlling herself had keptEmily silent. She was now able to speak without tears. "Rememberthe old times, aunt," she pleaded, gently. "Don't keep me out ofyour room, when I have come here to nurse you!"

"I'm her nurse. Go back to the sitting-room," Mrs. Ellmotherrepeated.

True love lasts while life lasts. The dying woman relented.

"Bony! Bony! I can't be unkind to Emily. Let her in."

Mrs. Ellmother still insisted on having her way.

"You're contradicting your own orders," she said to her mistress."You don't know how soon you may begin wandering in your mindagain. Think, Miss Letitia--think."

This remonstrance was received in silence. Mrs. Ellmother's greatgaunt figure still blocked up the doorway.

"If you force me to it," Emily said, quietly, "I must go to thedoctor, and ask him to interfere."

"Do you mean that?" Mrs. Ellmother said, quietly, on her side.

"I do mean it," was the answer.

The old servant suddenly submitted--with a look which took Emilyby surprise. She had expected to see anger; the face that nowconfronted her was a face subdued by sorrow and fear.

"I wash my hands of it," Mrs. Ellmother said. "Go in--and takethe consequences."