“Now Karen,” said Winthrop, when she had covered the bottom of the hot iron with her thin cakes, —­ “you set the table and I’ll take care of ’em.”

“There’s the knife, then,” said Karen.  “Will ye know when to turn them?  There ain’t fire enough to bake ’em by the blaze.”

“I’ve not forgotten so much,” said Winthrop.  “Let’s have a cup and saucer and plate, Karen.”

“Ye sha’n’t have one,” said Karen, casting another inquisitive and doubtful glance towards the silent, pale, fixed figure sitting in the middle of her kitchen.  He did have one, however, before she had got the two ready; despatched Karen from the table for sugar and cream; and then poured out himself a cup of his own preparation, and set it on Karen’s half-spread table, and came to Elizabeth.  He did not ask her if she would have it, nor say anything in fact; but gently raising her with one hand, he brought forward her chair with the other, and placed both where he wanted them to be, in the close neighbourhood of the steaming coffee.  Once before, Elizabeth had known him take the same sort of superintending care of her, when she was in no condition to take care of herself.  It was inexpressibly soothing; and yet she felt as if she could have knelt down on the floor, and given forth her very life in tears.  She looked at the coffee with a motionless face, till his hand held it out to her.  Not to drink it was impossible, though she was scarcely conscious of swallowing anything but tears.  When she took the cup from her lips, she found an egg, hot out of the water, on her plate, which was already supplied also with butter.  Her provider was just adding one of the cakes he had been baking.

“I can’t eat!” said Elizabeth, looking up.

“You must, —­” Winthrop answered.

In the same tone in which he had been acting.  Elizabeth obeyed it as involuntarily.

“Who is the lady, Governor?” Karen ventured, when she had possessed herself of the cake-knife, and had got Winthrop fairly seated at his breakfast.

“This lady is the mistress of the place, Karen.”

“The mistress!  Ain’t you the master?” —­ Karen inquired instantly.

“No.  I have no right here any longer, Karen.”

“I heered it was selled, but I didn’t rightly believe it,” the old woman said sadly.  “And the mistress ’ll be turning me away now?”

“Tell her no,” whispered Elizabeth.

“I believe not, Karen, unless you wish it.”

“What should I wish it for?  I’ve been here ever since I come with Mis’ Landholm, when she come first, and she left me here; and I want to stay here, in her old place, till I’m called to be with her again.  D’ye think it’ll be long, Governor?”

“Are you in haste, Karen?”

“I don’t want fur to stay” said the old woman.  “She’s gone, and I can’t take care o’ you no longer, nor no one.  I’d like to be gone, too —­ yes, I would.”