“I won’t,” was in Winnie’s heart to say; it did not get to her lips.  With a very disturbed and unsettled face, she saw her brother quietly and carefully supply her plate —­ the ham and the eggs and the bread and the butter, —­ and then Winnie jumped up and came to his arms to cry; the other turn of feeling had come again.  He let it have its way, till she had wept out her penitence and kissed her acknowledgment of it, and then she went back to her seat and her plate and betook herself to her breakfast.  Before much was done with it, however, Mrs. Nettley and Mr. Inchbald came to the door; and being let in, overwhelmed them with kind reproaches and welcomes.  Winnie was taken down stairs to finish her breakfast with tea and coffee; and Winthrop leaving her in hands that he knew would not forget their care of her, was free to go about his other cares, with what diligence they might require.

That same morning, before she had left her own room, Miss Haye was informed that a black girl wished to speak with her.  Being accordingly ordered up, said black girl presented herself.  A comely wench, dressed in the last point of neatness, though not by any means so as to set off her good accidents of nature.  Nevertheless they could not be quite hid; no more than a certain air of abundant capacity, for both her own business and other people’s.  She came in and dropped a curtsey.

“Who are you?” said Elizabeth.

“I am Clam, ma’am.”

“Clam!” said Elizabeth.  “O, are you Clam?  Where have you come from?”

“From the boat, last place, ma’am.”

“Boat! what boat?”

“The boat what goes with wheels and comes down the river,” said Clam lucidly.

“Oh! —­ And have you just come down?”

“We was comin’ down all yesterday and last night, ma’am.”

“Who were coming?”

“Mr. Winthrop Landholm, and Winifred, and me.”

“Winifred and you,” said Elizabeth.  “And did he send you to me?”

Clam nodded.  “He said he would ha’ writ somethin’, if he’d ha’ had a piece of paper or card or anything, but he hadn’t nothing.”

“He would have written what?”

“Don’t know —­ didn’t say.”

“Do you know who I am?”

Clam nodded again and shewed her teeth.  “The lady Mr. Winthrop sent me to.”

“Do you remember ever seeing me before?”

“When he was out walkin’ with you in the rain,” said Clam, her head first giving significant assent.

“Look here,” said Elizabeth a little shortly, —­ “when I speak to you, speak, and don’t nod your head.”

To which Clam gave the prohibited answer.

“What are you sent here for now?”

“I dun’ know, ma’am.”

“What did Mr. Winthrop say you were to do?”

“Said I was to come here, and behave.”

“Why have you come away from Mrs. Landholm?”

“Didn’t,” said Clam.  “She went away first.  She’s gone to heaven.”