“It’s rather dark, ma’am.”

Magdalen lit a candle.  “What notice must I give you,” she asked, as she put the candle on the table, “before I leave?”

“A week is the usual notice, ma’am.  I hope you have no objection to make to the house?”

“None whatever.  I only ask the question, because I may be obliged to leave these lodgings rather sooner than I anticipated.  Is the money right?”

“Quite right, ma’am.  Here is your receipt.”

“Thank you.  Don’t forget to send Louisa to me as soon as she has done her tea.”

The landlady withdrew.  As soon as she was alone again, Magdalen extinguished the candle, and drew an empty chair close to her own chair on the hearth.  This done, she resumed her former place, and waited until Louisa appeared.  There was doubt in her face as she sat looking mechanically into the fire.  “A poor chance,” she thought to herself; “but, poor as it is, a chance that I must try.”

In ten minutes more, Louisa’s meek knock was softly audible outside.  She was surprised, on entering the room, to find no other light in it than the light of the fire.

“Will you have the candles, ma’am?” she inquired, respectfully.

“We will have candles if you wish for them yourself,” replied Magdalen; “not otherwise.  I have something to say to you.  When I have said it, you shall decide whether we sit together in the dark or in the light.”

Louisa waited near the door, and listened to those strange words in silent astonishment.

“Come here,” said Magdalen, pointing to the empty chair; “come here and sit down.”

Louisa advanced, and timidly removed the chair from its position at her mistress’s side.  Magdalen instantly drew it back again.  “No!” she said.  “Come closer—­come close by me.”  After a moment’s hesitation, Louisa obeyed.

“I ask you to sit near me,” pursued Magdalen, “because I wish to speak to you on equal terms.  Whatever distinctions there might once have been between us are now at an end.  I am a lonely woman thrown helpless on my own resources, without rank or place in the world.  I may or may not keep you as my friend.  As mistress and maid the connection between us must come to an end.”

“Oh, ma’am, don’t, don’t say that!” pleaded Louisa, faintly.

Magdalen sorrowfully and steadily went on.

“When you first came to me,” she resumed, “I thought I should not like you.  I have learned to like you—­I have learned to be grateful to you.  From first to last you have been faithful and good to me.  The least I can do in return is not to stand in the way of your future prospects.”

“Don’t send me away, ma’am!” said Louisa, imploringly.  “If you can only help me with a little money now and then, I’ll wait for my wages—­I will, indeed.”

Magdalen took her hand and went on, as sorrowfully and as steadily as before.