'I want a maid-servant who can attend to me--crimp my lace borders, clear starch, iron aprons, make bows, and do needlework, also help below stairs when fine cooking is needed. My son brings in a friend to supper sometimes, for cribbage, and he is very particular about the pastry being light, and the Welsh rabbit done to a turn. Have you ever made a Welsh rabbit--toasted cheese, you know, wetted with a little ale?'

'I daresay I can do it,' Bryda said.

'Well, added to this, you must dust the chayney. I have very fine chayney. And you'll have to rub the oak bureaus and clean the brass. If you serve my purpose I shall get no more sluts as maids, but keep going with Mrs Symes, who comes every morning, and Sam the footboy. Then I expect you to be pretty, trim, and neat in the afternoon, and sit here and read to me, darn stockings--my son's and mine--and mend fine lace, and--well--a hundred other jobs which I need not count up now. There is no one in the house but yourself and an apprentice, who is bound to my son--worse luck--an idle good-for-nothing, with whom you may just civilly pass the time of day, but no more. He is not a companion fit for any young woman--a wild scapegrace. Mr Lambert would be glad to be quit of him. Now, if your box is taken to your chamber, you may go and lay aside your hood. I suppose you have more gowns than that you stand up in?'

'Yes, I have changes of gowns and aprons.'

'Very well, I think you will suit me. Mr Lambert comes into his dinner at half after one o'clock; it is near that now. You can take your meals with us, and see my friends when they visit me. There, now, I think you are a very lucky young person--be off to your chamber--first door on the second flight.'

Bryda hastened to obey, and was thankful to get a few minutes to herself.

Mrs Lambert seemed satisfied, but it was Mr Lambert whom she wanted to see, and she dare not address him before his mother.

On the second day after her arrival Mrs Lambert said there would be friends to sup, and Bryda must make a cake and some apple pies, and Mrs Symes had her orders to put things ready for her in the kitchen.

Up to this time the glimpse Bryda had of the apprentice at the door was all she had seen of him.

But when she went down into the kitchen at twelve o'clock she found him seated at a very untempting meal, with Sam the footboy and Mrs Symes.

But whether the repast was tempting or not made but little difference to Chatterton. He had a book open before him, and only now and then swallowed a bit of the unsavoury morsels provided, and preserved a haughty silence when Mrs Symes questioned him as to any of the gossip current in Bristol.

Presently she pushed back her chair, and before departing to the back kitchen with Sam she placed, with rather a bad grace, a rolling pin and flour and butter on a board at a side-table, some apples and a jar of raisins and spice and coarse sugar, saying,--

'Will that suit your fine cookery, miss? Lor' bless me, I could die of laughing to think a pair of hands like yours could make better paste than mine! You'd best be careful or you'll catch it. If ever there was a fidget about his food it's Master Lambert. Come, now, Tom, I am going to clear away, so you must budge. Why, you've left half your victuals on the platter. I'll feed the cat with them.'

Chatterton now looked up from his book, and said,--

'You're welcome, or rather the cat is welcome.'

He had an hour allowed for his dinner, and was not due at the office again till one o'clock, when Mr Lambert left it to return to Dowry Square for his midday repast at half-past one.

Chatterton rose as he spoke, and sat down on a stool by the fire, his book still in his hand.

But he was not reading now, he was watching the lithe, graceful figure at the side-table.

Bryda had rolled up her short sleeves above the elbow, and her pretty rounded arms were seen to advantage as she mixed the flour and kneaded it, and then passed the rolling pin lightly over it.

She was conscious of Chatterton's presence, but her back was turned to him.

Presently she turned her head, and saw a pair of extraordinary eyes fixed on her. It was not an impertinent gaze like that of Squire Bayfield's, it was simply one of almost wistful earnestness.

'I am wondering, miss,' he began, 'what made you come to this hole?'

'I came because I am poor, and wish to help them at home.'

Chatterton's eyes flashed.

'_Poor!_ Aye, to be poor is a curse.'

'No,' Bryda said, 'it need not be a curse.'

Then she went on with her rolling and kneading. Presently she said again,--

'Are you a lawyer, sir?'

'A lawyer's apprentice, worse luck.'

'I have a question about law to ask Mr Lambert and I am afraid to approach him.'

'I don't wonder. Well, what is the question?'

'If a person promised to pay back a debt, and put his hand to a bond, and the man to whom he owed the money died before it was paid, would the son of that man have a right to it?'

'If it had been so set down in the bond that the heirs of his body should have it, yes, he'd have to pay it.'

'Then there is no hope,' Bryda said, with a sigh, and Chatterton saw her wipe a tear away with the corner of her apron.

'Hark, miss,' he said, 'I am poor, and treated here like a dog because I am poor. I have a good mother, and if you would like to see her she would be proud to see you. I can escort you there on Sunday, and show you a thing or two.'

'If I may, I will come,' Bryda said.

'May? Sunday is everyone's holiday. I should feel it an honour to guide you to St Mary's grand church. It is there my father found all these fine poems, you know, up in the muniment room.'

'I knew you were very learned. I have the story of the "Fryars passing over the old Bridge" in my pocket-book. I cut it out of the newspaper.'

'But I can read you better things than that, if you care to hear them. I have a splendid poem called the "Tragedy of aella." The minstrel's song would be to your taste, perhaps. But I must away now. Count me as your friend in this miserable hole should you need one.'

'I do need a friend,' poor Bryda said; 'I am friendless in Bristol except for one,' she added. 'You know him--Mr Jack Henderson.'

'Yes, I know him, a big country lout and bumpkin, whom his uncle is trying to polish as he polishes his silver goods, poor fool for his pains.'

But Bryda rose on the defensive for Jack.

'Mr Henderson is a good and true friend, sir, nor can I hear him ill-spoken of.'

'Nay, I meant no harm,' Chatterton said, and the next minute Bryda was left to her pastry making and cake mixing.

'If Jack should ask me to go out on Sunday he will be angered against me for promising to go with that strange boy, but what fire there is in his eyes, what a noble mien he has when he answers Mrs Symes.'

Here Bryda's soliloquy was abruptly broken in on by Mrs Symes' voice.

'Seasoning your pastry with gossip, I hear. Have a care of yon fellow. I think an evil spirit is in him, and so do many beside me, let me tell you, miss.'

CHAPTER VII

CONSULTATION.