“Get out with yer old airthen candlestick,” said she, turning up her broad nose at the said article, which stood upon the stand.  “What’s them tall frosted ones in the parlor chamber for, if ’tain’t to use.  Go, Corind, and fetch ’em.”

But Corinda did not dare, and Aunt Milly went herself, taking the precaution to bring them in the tongs, so that in the denouement she could stoutly deny having even “tached ’em, or even had ’em in her hands!” (So much for a subterfuge, where there is no moral training.)

When Mabel heard of the change, she seemed for a moment stupefied.  Had she been consulted, had Mrs. Livingstone frankly stated her reasons for wishing her to take another room, she would have consented willingly, but to be thus summarily removed without a shadow of warning, hardly came up to her ideas of justice.  Still, there was no help for it, and that night the bride of three months watered her lone pillow with tears, never once closing her heavy eyelids in sleep until the dim morning light came in through the open window, and the tread of the negroes’ feet was heard in the yard below.  Then, for many hours, the weary girl slumbered on, unconscious of the ill-natured remarks which her non-appearance was eliciting from Mrs. Livingstone, who said “it was strange what airs some people would put on; perhaps Mistress Mabel fancied her breakfast would be sent to her room, or kept warm for her until such time as she chose to appear, but she’d find herself mistaken, for the servants had enough to do without waiting upon her, and if she couldn’t come up to breakfast, why, she must wait until dinner time.”

’Lena and Milly, however, thought differently.  Softly had the latter stolen up to her cousin’s room, gazing pityingly upon the pale, worn face, whose grieved, mournful expression told of sorrow which had come all too soon.

“Let her sleep; it will do her good,” said ’Lena, adjusting the bed-clothes, and dropping the curtain so that the sunlight should not disturb her, she left the chamber.

An hour after, on entering the kitchen, she found Aunt Milly preparing a rich cream toast, which, with a cup of fragrant black tea, were to be slyly conveyed to Mabel, who was now awake.

“Reckon thar don’t nobody starve as long as this nigger rules the roost,” said Milly, wiping one of the silver tea-spoons with a corner of her apron, and then placing it in the cup destined for Mabel, who, not having seen her breakfast prepared, relished it highly, thinking the world was not, after all, so dark and dreary, for there were yet a few left who cared for her.