following Stella, but, in the excess of her nervous apprehension,
she took one of the men-servants with her, in case of emergency!

CHAPTER XII.
THE GENERAL'S FAMILY.

NOT always remarkable for arriving at just conclusions, Lady
Loring had drawn the right inference this time. Stella had

stopped the first cab that passed her, and had directed the
driver to Camp's Hill, Islington.

The aspect of the miserable little street, closed at one end, and
swarming with dirty children quarreling over their play, daunted

her for the moment. Even the cabman, drawing up at the entrance
to the street, expressed his opinion that it was a queer sort of

place for a young lady to venture into alone. Stella thought of
Romayne. Her firm persuasion that she was helping him to perform

an act of mercy, which was (to his mind) an act of atonement as
well, roused her courage. She boldly approached the open door of

No. 10, and knocked on it with her parasol.
The tangled gray hair and grimy face of a hideous old woman

showed themselves slowly at the end of the passage, rising from
the strong-smelling obscurity of the kitchen regions. "What do

you want?" said the half-seen witch of the London slums. "Does
Madame Marillac live here?" Stella asked. "Do you mean the

foreigner?" "Yes." "Second door." With those instructions the
upper half of the witch sank and vanished. Stella gathered her

skirts together, and ascended a filthyflight of stairs for the
first time in her life.

Coarse voices, shameless language, gross laughter behind the
closed doors of the first floor hurried her on her way to the

rooms on the higher flight. Here there was a change for the
better--here, at least, there was silence. She knocked at the

door on the landing of the second floor. A gentle voice answered,
in French; "Entrez!"--then quickly substituted the English

equivalent, "Come in!" Stella opened the door.
The wretchedly furnished room was scrupulously clean. Above the

truckle-bed, a cheap little image of the Virgin was fastened to
the wall, with some faded artificial flowers arranged above it in

the form of a wreath. Two women, in dresses of coarse black
stuff, sat at a small round table, working at the same piece of

embroidery. The elder of the two rose when the visitor entered
the room. Her worn and weary face still showed the remains of

beauty in its finely proportioned parts--her dim eyes rested on
Stella with an expression of piteous entreaty. "Have you come for

the work, madam?" she asked, in English, spoken with a strong
foreign accent. "Pray forgive me; I have not finished it yet."

The second of the two workwomen suddenly looked up.
She, too, was wan and frail; but her eyes were bright; her

movements still preserved the elasticity of youth. Her likeness
to the elder woman proclaimed their relationship, even before she

spoke. "Ah! it's my fault!" she burst out passionately in French.
"I was hungry and tired, and I slept hours longer than I ought.

My mother was too kind to wake me and set me to work. I am a
selfish wretch--and my mother is an angel!" She dashed away the

tears gathering in her eyes, and proudly, fiercely, resumed her
work.

Stella hastened to reassure them, the moment she could make
herself heard. "Indeed, I have nothing to do with the work," she

said, speaking in French, so that they might the more readily
understand her. "I came here, Madame Marillac--if you will not be

offended with me, for plainly owning it--to offer you some little
help."

"Charity?" asked the daughter, looking up again sternly from her
needle.

"Sympathy," Stella answered gently.
The girl resumed her work. "I beg your pardon," she said; "I

shall learn to submit to my lot in time."
The quiet long-suffering mother placed a chair for Stella. "You

have a kind beautiful face, miss," she said; "and I am sure you
will make allowances for my poor girl. I remember the time when I

was as quick to feel as she is. May I ask how you came to hear of
us?"

"I hope you will excuse me," Stella replied. "I am not at liberty
to answer that question."

The mother said nothing. The daughter asked sharply, "Why not?"
Stella addressed her answer to the mother. "I come from a person

who desires to be of service to you as an unknown friend," she
said.

The wan face of the widow suddenly brightened. "Oh!" she
exclaimed, "has my brother heard of the General's death? and has

he forgiven me my marriage at last?"
"No, no!" Stella interposed; "I must not mislead you. The person

whom I represent is no relation of yours."
Even in spite of this positiveassertion, the poor woman held

desperately to the hope that had been roused in her. "The name by
which you know me may mislead you," she suggested anxiously. "My

late husband assumed the name in his exile
here. Perhaps, if I told you--"

The daughter stopped her there. "My dear mother, leave this to
me." The widow sighed resignedly, and resumed her work. "Madame

Marillac will do very well as a name," the girl continued,
turning to Stella, "until we know something more of each other. I

suppose you are well acquainted with the person whom you
represent?"

"Certainly, or I should not be here."
"You know the person's family connections, in that case? and you

can say for certain whether they are French connections or not?"
"I can say for certain," Stella answered, "that they are English

connections. I represent a friend who feels kindly toward Madame
Marillac; nothing more."

"You see, mother, you were mistaken. Bear it as bravely, dear, as
you have borne other trials." Saying this very tenderly, she

addressed herself once more to Stella, without attempting to
conceal the accompanying change in her manner to coldness and

distrust. "One of us must speak plainly," she said. "Our few
friends are nearly as poor as we are, and they are all French. I

tell you positively that we have no English friends. How has this
anonymous benefactor been informed of our poverty? You are a

stranger to us--_you_ cannot have given the information?"
Stella's eyes were now open to the awkward position in which she

had placed herself. She met the difficulty boldly, still upheld
by the conviction that she was serving a purpose cherished by

Romayne. "You had good reasons, no doubt, mademoiselle, when you
advised your mother to conceal her true name," she rejoined. "Be

just enough to believe that your 'anonymous benefactor' has good
reasons for concealment too."

It was well said, and it encouraged Madame Marillac to take
Stella's part. "My dear Blanche, you speak rather harshly to this

good young lady," she said to her daughter. "You have only to
look at her, and to see that she means well."

Blanche took up her needle again, with dogged submission. "If we
_are_ to accept charity, mother, I should like to know the hand

that gives it," she answered. "I will say no more."
"When you are as old as I am, my dear," rejoined Madame Marillac,

"you will not think quite so positively as you think now. I have
learned some hard lessons," she proceeded, turning to Stella,

"and I hope I am the better for them. My life has not been a
happy one--"

"Your life has been a martyrdom!" said the girl, breaking out
again in spite of herself. "Oh, my father! my father!" She pushed

aside the work and hid her face in her hands.
The gentle mother spoke severely for the first time. "Respect

your father's memory!" she said. Blanche trembled and kept
silence. "I have no false pride," Madame Marillac continued. "I

own that we are miserably poor; and I thank you, my dear young
lady, for your kind intentions toward us, without embarrassing