The next interruption came an hour later and was a smarter one.  Elizabeth had wearied herself with weeping, and lay comparatively quiet on the couch.

“Miss ’Lizabeth,” said the new-comer, in more gentle wise than it was her fashion to look or speak, —­ “Mr. Winthrop said I was to come and get your orders about what you wanted.”

“I can’t give orders —­ Do what you like,” said Elizabeth keeping her face hid.

“If I knowed what ’twas,” —­ said Clam, sending her eye round the room for information or suggestion.  “Mr. Winthrop said I was to come. —­ Why you haven’t took no breakfast?”

“I didn’t want any.”

“You can’t go out o’ town that way,” said Clam.  “The Governor desired you would take some breakfast, and his orders must be follered.  You can’t drink cold coffee neither —­”

And away went Clam, coffee-pot in hand.

In so short a space of time that it shewed Clam’s business faculties, she was back again with the coffee smoking hot.  She made a cup carefully and brought it to her mistress.

“You can’t do nothin’ without it,” said Clam.  “Mr. Winthrop would say, ‘Drink it’ if he was here —­”

Which Elizabeth knew, and perhaps considered in swallowing the coffee.  Before she had done, Clam stood at her couch again with a plate of more substantial supports.

“He would say ‘Eat,’ if he was here —­” she remarked.

“Attend a little to what I have to say,” said her mistress.

“While you’re eatin’,” said Clam.  “I wasn’t to stop to get breakfast.”

A few words of directions were despatched, and Clam was off again; and Elizabeth lay still and looked at the strange room and thought over the strange meaning and significance of her being there.  A moment’s harbour, with a moment’s friend.  She was shiveringly alone in the world; she felt very much at a loss what to do, or what would become of her, She felt it, but she could not think about it.  Tears came again for a long uninterrupted time.

The day had reached the afternoon, when Clam returned, and coming into Mrs. Nettley’s kitchen inquired if her mistress had had any refreshment.  Mrs. Nettley declared that she dursn’t take it up and that she had waited for Clam.  Upon which that damsel set about getting ready a cup of tea, with a sort of impatient promptitude.

“Have you got all through?” Mrs. Nettley asked in the course of this preparation.

“What?” said Clam.

“Your work.”

“No,” said Clam.  “Never expect to.  My work don’t get done.”

“But has Mr. Landholm got through his work, down at the house?”

“Don’t know,” said Clam.  “He don’t tell me.  But if we was to work on, at the rate we’ve been a goin’ to-day —­ we’d do up all Mannahatta in a week or so.”

“What’s been so much to do? —­ the funeral, I know.”

“The funeral,” said Clam, “and everything else.  That was only one thing.  There was everything to be locked up, and everything to be put up, and the rest to be packed; and the silver sent off to the Bank; and everybody to be seen to.  I did all I could, and Mr. Winthrop he did the rest.”