Edith had come to see the dear old aunt off; and now
re-entered the lodgings to help Emilie to collect her things, and to
settle with Miss Webster for the lodgings, before her departure. Miss
Webster had met with a tenant for six weeks, and was in very good
spirits, and very willing to take care of the Schombergs' goods, which,
to tell the truth, were not likely to oppress her either in number or
value, with the exception of one cherished article, one relic of former
days--a good semi-grand piano, which M. Schomberg had purchased for his
daughter, about a year before his death. Miss Webster looked very much
confused as Emilie bade her good-bye, and said--"Miss Schomberg, you
have not, I see, left your piano unlocked."
"No," said Emilie, "certainly I have not; I did not suppose----"
"Why," replied Miss Webster, "the lodgers, seeing a piano, will be sure
to ask for the key, Miss, and to be sure you wo'nt object."
Emilie hesitated. Did she remember the time when Miss Webster, indignant
at Emilie for being a fortnight behind-hand in her weekly rent, refused
to lend a sofa for her dying father, without extra pay? Did she recall
the ill-made slops, the wretched attendance to which this selfish woman
treated them during the pressure of poverty and distress? Emilie was
human, and she remembered all.
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