she looked at him with vague wonder and admiration, as a being out of some other planet, for whom she had no gauge or measure:  she only believed that he had vast powers of doing good unknown to her; and was delighted by seeing him condescend to play with her children.  The truth may be degrading, but it must be told.  People, of course, who know the hollowness of the world, and the vanity of human wealth and honour, and are accustomed to live with lords and ladies, see through all that, just as clearly as any American republican does; and care no more about walking down Pall-Mall with the Marquis of Carabas, who can get them a place or a living, than with Mr. Two-shoes, who can only borrow ten pounds of them; but Grace was a poor simple West-country girl; and as such we must excuse her, if, curtseying to the very ground, with tears of gratitude in her eyes, she took the ten-pound note, saying to herself, “Thank the Good Lord!  This will just pay mother’s account at the mill.”

Likewise we must excuse her if she trembled a little, being a young woman—­though being also a lady, she lost no jot of self-possession—­ when his lordship went on in as important a tone as he could—­

“And—­and I hear, Miss Harvey, that you have a great influence over these children’s parents.”

“I am afraid some one has misinformed your lordship,” said Grace, in a low voice.

“Ah!” quoth Scoutbush, in a tone meant to be reassuring; “it is quite proper in you to say so.  What eyes she has! and what hair! and what hands, too!” (This was, of course, spoken mentally.) “But we know better; and we want you to speak to them, whenever you can, about keeping their houses clean, and all that, in case the cholera should come.”  And Scoutbush stopped.  It was a quaint errand enough; and besides, as he told Mellot frankly, “I could think of nothing but those wonderful eyes of hers, and how like they were to La Signora’s.”

Grace had been looking at the ground all the while.  Now she threw upon him one of her sudden, startled looks, and answered slowly, as her eyes dropped again: 

“I have, my lord; but they will not listen to me.”

“Won’t listen to you?  Then to whom will they listen?”

“To God, when He speaks Himself,” said she, still looking on the ground.  Scoutbush winced uneasily.  He was not accustomed to solemn words, spoken so solemnly.

“Do you hear this, Campbell?  Miss Harvey has been talking to these people already, and they won’t hear her.”

“Miss Harvey, I dare say, is not astonished at that.  It is the usual fate of those who try to put a little common sense into their fellow-men.”

“Well, and I shall, at all events, go off and give them my mind on the matter; though I suppose (with a glance at Grace) I can’t expect to be heard where Miss Harvey has not been.”

“Oh, my lord,” cried Grace, “if you would but speak—­” And there she stopped; for was it her place to tell him his duty?  No doubt he had wiser people than her to counsel him.