Mrs.
Tams had evidently determined to carry them out at an early hour.
Rachel opened a cupboard and drew forth the apparatus for cleaning.
She was intensely fatigued, weary, and seemingly spiritless, but she
began to clean the silver--at first with energy and then with serious
application. She stood at the table, cleaning, as she had stood there
when Louis came into her kitchen on the night of the robbery; and she
thought of his visit and of her lost bliss, and the tears fell
from her eyes on the newspaper which protected the whiteness of the
scrubbed table. She would not think of the future; could not. She went
on cleaning, and that silver had never been cleaned as she cleaned it
then. She cleaned it with every attribute of herself, forgetting her
fatigue. The tears dried on her cheek. The faithful, scrupulous work
either drugged or solaced her. Just as she was finishing, Mrs. Tarns,
with her immense bodice unfastened, came downstairs, apronless. The
lobby clock struck six.
"Eh, missis!" breathed Mrs. Tams. "What's this?"
Rachel gave a nervous laugh.
"I was up. Mr. Fores was asleep, and I had to do something, so I
thought--"
"Has he had a good night, ma'am?"
"Fair. Yes, pretty good.
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