`I have no home, ma'am, but with you,' she replied; `and if I leave you, I'll never go into place again as long as I live.'
`But I can't afford to live like a lady, now,' returned I: `I must be my own maid and my child's nurse.
`What signifies?' replied she in some excitement. `You'll want somebody to clean and wash, and cook, won't you? I can do all that; and never mind the wages--I've my bits o' savings yet, and if you wouldn't take me, I should have to find my own board and lodging out of `em somewhere, or else work among strangers--and it's what I'm not used too you can please yourself ma'am.' Her voice quavered as she spoke, and the tears stood in her eyes.
`I should like it above all things, Rachel, and I'd give you such wages as I could afford--such as I should give to any servant of all work I might employ; but don't you see I should be dragging you down with me, when you have done nothing to deserve it?'
`Oh, fiddle!' ejaculated she.
`And besides, my future way of living will be so widely different to the past--so different to all you have been accustomed to--'
`Do you think, ma'am, I can't bear what my missis can?--surely I'm not so proud and so dainty as that comes tend my little master too, God bless him?'
`But I'm young, Rachel; I shan't mind it; and Arthur is young too--it will be nothing to him.'
`Nor me either: I'm not so old but what I can stand hard fare and hard work, if it's only to help and comfort them as I've loved like my own barns--for all I'm too old to bide the thoughts o' leaving `em in trouble and danger, and going amongst strangers myself.'
`Then you shan't, Rachel!' cried I, embracing my faithful friend.
`We'll all go together, and you shall see how the new life suits you.
`Bless you, honey!' cried she affectionately returning my embrace.
`Only let us get shut of this wicked house and we'll do right enough, you'll see.'
`So think I,' was my answer;--and so that point was settled.
By that morning's post, I despatched a few hasty lines to Frederick, beseeching him to prepare my asylum for my immediate reception--for I should probably come to claim it within a day after the receipt of that note,--and telling him in few words, the cause of my sudden resolution. I then wrote three letters of adieu: the first to Esther Hargrave, in which I told her that I found it impossible to stay any longer at Grassdale, or to leave my son under his father's protection; and, as it was of the last importance that our future abode should be unknown to him and his acquaintance, I should disclose it to no one but my brother, through the medium of whom I hoped still to correspond with my friends. I then gave her his address, exhorted her to write frequently, reiterated some of my former admonitions regarding her own concerns, and hade her a fond farewell.
The second was to Milicent; much to the same effect, but a little more confidential, as befitted our longer intimacy, and her greater experience and better acquaintance with my circumstances.
