“What do you propose to do?” asked Mr. Medwin, whose manner to her had completely changed from the politely patronising to the sharply aggressive—­“Do you want a situation?”

She lifted her eyes to his fat, unpromising face.

“Yes—­I should like one very much—­I could be a lady’s maid, I think, I can sew very well.  But—­perhaps you would baptise me first?”

He gave a sound between a cough and a grunt.

“Eh?  Baptise you?”

“Yes,—­because if I am unregenerate, and my soul is not clean, as you say, no one would take me—­not even as a lady’s maid.”

Her quaint, perfectly simple way of putting the case made him angry.

“I’m afraid you are not sufficiently aware of the importance of the sacred rite,”—­he said, severely—­“At your age you would need to be instructed for some weeks before you could be considered fit and worthy.  Then,—­you tell me you have no name!—­Innocent is not a name at all for a woman—­I do not know who you are—­you are ignorant of your parentage—­you may have been born out of wedlock—­”

She coloured deeply.

“I am not sure of that,” she said, in a low tone.

“No—­of course you are not sure,—­but I should say the probability is that you are illegitimate”—­and the reverend gentleman took up his hat to go.  “The whole business is very perplexing and difficult.  However, I will see what can be done for you—­but you are in a very awkward corner!—­very awkward indeed!  Life will not be very easy for you, I fear!”

“I do not expect ease,” she replied—­“I have been very happy till now—­and I am grateful for the past.  I must make my own future.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she looked out through the open window at the fair garden which she herself had tended for so long—­and she saw the clergyman’s portly form through a mist of sorrow as in half-hearted fashion he bade her good-day.

“I hope—­I fervently trust—­that God will support you in your bereavement,” he said, unctuously—­“I had intended before leaving to offer up a prayer with you for the soul of the departed and for your own soul—­but the sad fact of your being unbaptised places me in a difficulty.  But I shall not fail personally to ask our Lord to prepare you for the unfortunate change in your lot!”

“Thank you!” she replied, quietly—­and without further salute he left her.

She stood for a moment considering—­then sat down by the window, looking at the radiant flowerbeds, with all their profusion of blossom.  She wondered dreamily how they could show such brave, gay colouring when death was in the house, and the aching sense of loss and sorrow weighted the air as with darkness.  A glitter of white wings flashed before her eyes, and her dove alighted on the window-sill,—­she stretched out her hand and the petted bird stepped on her little rosy palm with all its accustomed familiarity and confidence.  She caressed it tenderly.