from a locked drawer in her bedroom a little account-book, and busied herself with figures.  This she found an enjoyable moment; it was very pleasant indeed to make the computation of what the Rymers owed to her, a daily-growing debt of which the payment could not now be long delayed.  She did not feel quite sure with regard to the interest, but the principal of the debt was very easily reckoned, and it would make a nice little sum to put by.  Certainly Miss Shepperson was not unhappy.

Mrs. Rymer was just able to resume her normal habits, to write many letters, teach her children, pay visits in distant parts of London—­the care of the baby being still chiefly left to Miss Shepperson—­when, on a pleasant day of spring, a little before lunch-time, Mr. Rymer rushed into the house, calling in an agitated voice his wife’s name.  Miss Shepperson was 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 from the kitchen, aproned, with sleeves rolled to the elbow, and met the excited man as he descended from a vain search in the bedrooms.

‘Has it happened?’ she cried—­for it seemed to her that there could be only one explanation of Mr. Rymer’s behaviour.

‘Yes!  He died this morning—­this morning!’

They clasped hands; then, as an afterthought, their eyes fell, and they stood limply embarrassed.

‘It seems shocking to take the news in this way,’ murmured Mr. Rymer; ’but the relief; oh, the relief!  And then, I scarcely knew him; we haven’t seen each other for years.  I can’t help it!  I feel as if I had thrown off a load of tons!  Where is Adelaide?  Which way have they gone?’

He rushed out again, to meet his wife.  For several minutes Miss Shepperson stood motionless, in a happy daze, until she suddenly remembered that chops were at the kitchen fire, and sped downstairs.

Throughout that day, and, indeed, for several days to come, Mrs. Rymer behaved very properly indeed; her pleasant, refined face wore a becoming gravity, 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 to imitate his wife’s decorum, frequently betrayed the joy which was in his mind; Miss Shepperson heard him singing as he got up in the morning, and noticed that he ate with unusual appetite.  The house brightened.  Before the end of a week smiles and cheerful remarks ruled in the family; sorrows were forgotten, and everybody looked forward to the great day of settlement.