The night was oppressively hot. Finding it impossible to sleep,Francine lay quietly in her bed, thinking. The subject of herreflections was a person who occupied the humble position of hernew servant.

Mrs. Ellmother looked wretchedly ill. Mrs. Ellmother had toldEmily that her object, in returning to domestic service, was totry if change would relieve her from the oppression of her ownthoughts. Mrs. Ellmother believed in vulgar superstitions whichdeclared Friday to be an unlucky day; and which recommendedthrowing a pinch over your left shoulder, if you happened tospill the salt.

In themselves, these were trifling recollections. But theyassumed a certain importance, derived from the associations whichthey called forth.

They reminded Francine, by some mental process which she was at aloss to trace, of Sappho the slave, and of her life at St.Domingo.

She struck a light, and unlocked her writing desk. From one ofthe drawers she took out an old household account-book.

The first page contained some entries, relating to domesticexpenses, in her own handwriting. They recalled one of herefforts to occupy her idle time, by relieving her mother of thecares of housekeeping. For a day or two, she had persevered--andthen she had ceased to feel any interest in her new employment.The remainder of the book was completely filled up, in abeautifully clear handwriting, beginning on the second page. Atitle had been found for the manuscript by Francine. She hadwritten at the top of the page: _Sappho's Nonsense_.

After reading the first few sentences she rapidly turned over theleaves, and stopped at a blank space near the end of the book.Here again she had added a title. This time it implied acompliment to the writer: the page was headed: _Sappho's Sense_.

She read this latter part of the manuscript with the closestattention.

"I entreat my kind and dear young mistress not to suppose that Ibelieve in witchcraft--after such an education as I havereceived. When I wrote down, at your biding, all that I had toldyou by word of mouth, I cannot imagine what delusion possessedme. You say I have a negro side to my character, which I inheritfrom my mother. Did you mean this, dear mistress, as a joke? I amalmost afraid it is sometimes not far off from the truth.

"Let me be careful, however, to avoid leading you into a mistake.It is really true that the man-slave I spoke of did pine and die,after the spell had been cast on him by my witch-mother's imageof wax. But I ought also to have told you that circumstancesfavored the working of the spell: the fatal end was not broughtabout by supernatural means.

"The poor wretch was not in good health at the time; and ourowner had occasion to employ him in the valley of the island farinland. I have been told, and can well believe, that the climatethere is different from the climate on the coast--in which theunfortunate slave had been accustomed to live. The overseerwouldn't believe him when he said the valley air would be hisdeath--and the negroes, who might otherwise have helped him, allavoided a man whom they knew to be under a spell.

"This, you see, accounts for what might appear incredible tocivilized persons. If you will do me a favor, you will burn thislittle book, as soon as you have read what I have written here.If my request is not granted, I can only implore you to let noeyes but your own see these pages. My life might be in danger ifthe blacks knew what I have now told you, in the interests oftruth."

Francine closed the book, and locked it up again in her desk."Now I know," she said to herself, "what reminded me of St.Domingo."

When Francine rang her bell the next morning, so long a timeelapsed without producing an answer that she began to think ofsending one of the house-servants to make inquiries. Before shecould decide, Mrs. Ellmother presented herself, and offered herapologies.

"It's the first time I have overslept myself, miss, since I was agirl. Please to excuse me, it shan't happen again."

"Do you find that the air here makes you drowsy?" Francine asked.

Mrs. Ellmother shook her head. "I didn't get to sleep," she said,"till morning, and so I was too heavy to be up in time. But airhas got nothing to do with it. Gentlefolks may have their whimsand fancies. All air is the same to people like me."

"You enjoy good health, Mrs. Ellmother?"

"Why not, miss? I have never had a doctor."

"Oh! That's your opinion of doctors, is it?"

"I won't have anything to do with them--if that's what you meanby my opinion," Mrs. Ellmother answered doggedly. "How will youhave your hair done?"

"The same as yesterday. Have you seen anything of Miss Emily? Shewent back to London the day after you left us."

"I haven't been in London. I'm thankful to say my lodgings arelet to a good tenant."

"Then where have you lived, while you were waiting to come here?"

"I had only one place to go to, miss; I went to the village whereI was born. A friend found a corner for me. Ah, dear heart, it'sa pleasant place, there!"

"A place like this?"

"Lord help you! As little like this as chalk is to cheese. A finebig moor, miss, in Cumberland, without a tree in sight--lookwhere you may. Something like a wind, I can tell you, when ittakes to blowing there."

"Have you never been in this part of the country?"

"Not I! When I left the North, my new mistress took me to Canada.Talk about air! If there was anything in it, the people in _that_air ought to live to be a hundred. I liked Canada."

"And who was your next mistress?"

Thus far, Mrs. Ellmother had been ready enough to talk. Had shefailed to hear what Francine had just said to her? or had shesome reason for feeling reluctant to answer? In any case, aspirit of taciturnity took sudden possession of her--she wassilent.

Francine (as usual) persisted. "Was your next place in servicewith Miss Emily's aunt?"

"Yes."

"Did the old lady always live in London?"

"No."

"What part of the country did she live in?"

"Kent."

"Among the hop gardens?"

"No."

"In what other part, then?"

"Isle of Thanet."

"Near the sea coast?"

"Yes."

Even Francine could insist no longer: Mrs. Ellmother's reservehad beaten her--for that day at least. "Go into the hall," shesaid, "and see if there are any letters for me in the rack."

There was a letter bearing the Swiss postmark. Simple Cecilia wasflattered and delighted by the charming manner in which Francinehad written to her. She looked forward with impatience to thetime when their present acquaintance might ripen into friendship.Would "Dear Miss de Sor" waive all ceremony, and consent to be aguest (later in the autumn) at her father's house? Circumstancesconnected with her sister's health would delay their return toEngland for a little while. By the end of the month she hoped tobe at home again, and to hear if Francine was disengaged. Heraddress, in England, was Monksmoor Park, Hants.

Having read the letter, Francine drew a moral from it: "There isgreat use in a fool, when one knows how to manage her."

Having little appetite for her breakfast, she tried theexperiment of a walk on the terrace. Alban Morris was right; theair at Netherwoods, in the summer time, _was_ relaxing. Themorning mist still hung over the lowest part of the valley,between the village and the hills beyond. A little exerciseproduced a feeling of fatigue. Francine returned to her room, andtrifled with her tea and toast.

Her next proceeding was to open her writing-desk, and look intothe old account-book once more. While it lay open on her lap, sherecalled what had passed that morning, between Mrs. Ellmother andherself.

The old woman had been born and bred in the North, on an openmoor. She had been removed to the keen air of Canada when sheleft her birthplace. She had been in service after that, on thebreezy eastward coast of Kent. Would the change to the climate ofNetherwoods produce any effect on Mrs. Ellmother? At her age, andwith her seasoned constitution, would she feel it as thoseschool-girls had felt it--especially that one among them, wholived in the bracing air of the North, the air of Yorkshire?

Weary of solitary thinking on one subject, Francine returned tothe terrace with a vague idea of finding something to amuseher--that is to say, something she could turn into ridicule--ifshe joined the girls.

The next morning, Mrs. Ellmother answered her mistress's bellwithout delay. "You have slept better, this time?" Francine said.

"No, miss. When I did get to sleep I was troubled by dreams.Another bad night--and no mistake!"

"I suspect your mind is not quite at ease," Francine suggested.

"Why do you suspect that, if you please?"

"You talked, when I met you at Miss Emily's, of wanting to getaway from your own thoughts. Has the change to this place helpedyou?"

"It hasn't helped me as I expected. Some people's thoughts stickfast."

"Remorseful thoughts?" Francine inquired.

Mrs. Ellmother held up her forefinger, and shook it with agesture of reproof. "I thought we agreed, miss, that there was tobe no pumping."

The business of the toilet proceeded in silence.

A week passed. During an interval in the labors of the school,Miss Ladd knocked at the door of Francine's room.

"I want to speak to you, my dear, about Mrs. Ellmother. Have younoticed that she doesn't seem to be in good health?"

"She looks rather pale, Miss Ladd."

"It's more serious than that, Francine. The servants tell me thatshe has hardly any appetite. She herself acknowledges that shesleeps badly. I noticed her yesterday evening in the garden,under the schoolroom window. One of the girls dropped adictionary. She started at that slight noise, as if it terrifiedher. Her nerves are seriously out of order. Can you prevail uponher to see the doctor?"

Francine hesitated--and made an excuse. "I think she would bemuch more likely, Miss Ladd, to listen to you. Do you mindspeaking to her?"

"Certainly not!"

Mrs. Ellmother was immediately sent for. "What is your pleasure,miss?" she said to Francine.

Miss Ladd interposed. "It is I who wish to speak to you, Mrs.Ellmother. For some days past, I have been sorry to see youlooking ill."

"I never was ill in my life, ma'am."

Miss Ladd gently persisted. "I hear that you have lost yourappetite."

"I never was a great eater, ma'am."

It was evidently useless to risk any further allusion to Mrs.Ellmother's symptoms. Miss Ladd tried another method ofpersuasion. "I daresay I may be mistaken," she said; "but I doreally feel anxious about you. To set my mind at rest, will yousee the doctor?"

"The doctor! Do you think I'm going to begin taking physic, at mytime of life? Lord, ma'am! you amuse me--you do indeed!" Sheburst into a sudden fit of laughter; the hysterical laughterwhich is on the verge of tears. With a desperate effort, shecontrolled herself. "Please, don't make a fool of me again," shesaid--and left the room.

"What do you think now?" Miss Ladd asked.

Francine appeared to be still on her guard.

"I don't know what to think," she said evasively.

Miss Ladd looked at her in silent surprise, and withdrew.

Left by herself, Francine sat with her elbows on the table andher face in her hands, absorbed in thought. After a longinterval, she opened her desk--and hesitated. She took a sheet ofnote-paper--and paused, as if still in doubt. She snatched up herpen, with a sudden recovery of resolution--and addressed theselines to the wife of her father's agent in London:

"When I was placed under your care, on the night of my arrivalfrom the West Indies, you kindly said I might ask you for anylittle service which might be within your power. I shall begreatly obliged if you can obtain for me, and send to this place,a supply of artists' modeling wax--sufficient for the product ionof a small image."