"So she means to leave?" says the Sergeant. "What is she to do when she

does leave? Sad, sad! The poor creature has got no friends in the world,

except you and me."

"Ah, but she has though!" says Mrs. Yolland. "She came in here, as I

told you, this evening; and, after sitting and talking a little with my

girl Lucy and me she asked to go up-stairs by herself, into Lucy's room.

It's the only room in our place where there's pen and ink. 'I want to

write a letter to a friend,' she says 'and I can't do it for the prying

and peeping of the servants up at the house.' Who the letter was written

to I can't tell you: it must have been a mortal long one, judging by the

time she stopped up-stairs over it. I offered her a postage-stamp when

she came down. She hadn't got the letter in her hand, and she didn't

accept the stamp. A little close, poor soul (as you know), about herself

and her doings. But a friend she has got somewhere, I can tell you; and

to that friend you may depend upon it, she will go."

"Soon?" asked the Sergeant.

"As soon as she can." says Mrs. Yolland.

Here I stepped in again from the door. As chief of my lady's

establishment, I couldn't allow this sort of loose talk about a servant

of ours going, or not going, to proceed any longer in my presence,

without noticing it.

"You must be mistaken about Rosanna Spearman," I said. "If she had been

going to leave her present situation, she would have mentioned it, in

the first place, to _me_."

"Mistaken?" cries Mrs. Yolland. "Why, only an hour ago she bought some

things she wanted for travelling--of my own self, Mr. Betteredge, in

this very room. And that reminds me," says the wearisome woman, suddenly

beginning to feel in her pocket, "of something I have got it on my mind

to say about Rosanna and her money. Are you either of you likely to see

her when you go back to the house?"

"I'll take a message to the poor thing, with the greatest pleasure,"

answered Sergeant Cuff, before I could put in a word edgewise.

Mrs. Yolland produced out of her pocket, a few shillings and sixpences,

and counted them out with a most particular and exasperating carefulness

in the palm of her hand. She offered the money to the Sergeant, looking

mighty loth to part with it all the while.

"Might I ask you to give this back to Rosanna, with my love and

respects?" says Mrs. Yolland. "She insisted on paying me for the one or

two things she took a fancy to this evening--and money's welcome enough

in our house, I don't deny it. Still, I'm not easy in my mind about

taking the poor thing's little savings. And to tell you the truth,

I don't think my man would like to hear that I had taken Rosanna

Spearman's money, when he comes back to-morrow morning from his work.

Please say she's heartily welcome to the things she bought of me--as

a gift. And don't leave the money on the table," says Mrs. Yolland,

putting it down suddenly before the Sergeant, as if it burnt her

fingers--"don't, there's a good man! For times are hard, and flesh is

weak; and I MIGHT feel tempted to put it back in my pocket again."




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