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Even a monthly pittance will count through the ages; so Treesa's savings came at last to foot up into the thousands. Not even good Father Clement could have told the amount, or where she kept it. Like herself, it was a mystery. She continued to hoard and to hide, with no misgiving of loss by thief, or by accident; with no forewarning of danger. Yet dire calamity was impending.
The Excelsior had a reputation, national and international. Princes and potentates had slumbered in Treesa's chambers. The "nobility and the gentry" had been feted there. Year after year her pale eyes had watched over the welfare of distinguished visitors, American and foreign. They had seen the help come and go; she was still the "girl of the parlor floor."
Some one younger, and stronger, ought to relieve you, and give you a chance to pick up. You are a good girl," with encouraging justice, "a very good girl, and have been faithful and honest. But we " he hesitated, as Treesa's lean face suddenly darkened with an unwonted flush. Then she broke out: "An' is it me dischairge ye'd be afther givin' me, sir?"
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