have remembered this, I moved the lamp
quickly, and in carrying it towards the floor,
I knocked the glass against the edge of the
table; it fell to shivers, and the light was
extinguished. What was to be done? Nothing:
there was nothing to be done but to leave
things just as they were, and to creep into bed
again.

In the morning I hurried down, fearful
lest any of the servants should chance to go
into the drawing-room before I had picked up
the broken glass. I opened the shutters, and
soon found that the shattered glass was not
all the injury that had been done. There was
lamp-oil on the beautiful carpet! There
seemed no end to my troubles.

"Broken the lamp-glass!" said the cook, as
I passed through the kitchen with the broken
bits of glass; "what ever will you do?"—"I
can do nothing but tell mistress."—"Then
I'll tell you what to do; take my advice, and
deny it."—"Deny what?"—"Why, that you've
broken the lamp-glass."—"What! tell my
mistress a lie? how can you give me such
wicked advice?"—"Well; it's no business
of mine," said the Cook; "if you won't tell
her a lie, I'll tell her the truth." I determined,
however, to speak first. I could not
go about my usual work till I had spoken to
my mistress; and yet, when I heard the
dining-room door open, and knew that she
would be coming up, I ran out of the room,
and went up stairs; my courage failed me, and
I hardly dared to go down again. From the
top of the stairs I saw her go into the room,
and I saw the cook following her. I expected
every moment to be called. Soon the door
opened, and the cook came out. I heard her
say, distinctly, "Indeed, ma'am, I 'm afraid
she'll turn out badly; but I've done what I
can to make her confess." At the sound of
the opening of the door, with a sudden
determination, I had rushed down stairs, and was
within a few steps of the room as the cook
came out. On seeing me, she shut the door
quickly, and turned quite red; then, speaking
in a voice on purpose for my mistress to
hear, she said, "What! have you been listening?"
I made no answer; but went into the
room.

There was an expression of displeasure on
the face of my mistress as she looked at me.
She asked, "How did you break the lamp-
glass? Tell me the truth—for though I may
pardon the accident, I will not pardon any
falsehood about it."

I begged that I might tell her everything,
and that I might begin from the day when I
came to my place. I did so. I told her all,
and very much in the same way that I have
just been writing it now. She listened to me
with great attention, and at parts of what I
told her, I could see her countenance change
very much indeed. When I had done, she
said, "Fanny, you have told me that which
has shocked me very much. I can say nothing
further to you till I have spoken to Mr. Morgan;
meantime you must be silent, and go on
as usual."

Mr. Morgan was at that time from home,
and not expected for some days. Meanwhile,
Mrs. Morgan had missed several bottles of
wine from the cellar. She had a distinct
knowledge of three bottles that were not in
their places.

The morning after his arrival he did not go
to London as usual. He and my mistress were
talking together in the study for a long time.
I knew well what they were talking about,
and so flurried did I feel, that I could
hardly get on with my work. At length
I met mistress as she was going up stairs.
She said she was coming to bid me go into
the study; and her manner was so kind that
I obeyed her without fear. My master, too,
spoke very kindly to me. I found that my
mistress had written to tell him what had
been passing at home in his absence, and that
he, chancing to be at Dudley, which is only
a short distance from Birmingham, had gone
there to make further inquiry about me;
that he had been at the school, had seen the
matron, and had also seen my aunt. All
that he had heard about me had satisfied him,
and convinced him that what I had told my
mistress was nothing but the truth. "Is
this your handkerchief, Fanny?" said my
master, taking up one from a side table.
"Yes, sir, it is," I said, unfolding it, "and
here is my name marked; it was given
to me by a favourite little schoolfellow, and
I feared I had lost it."—" Where do you
think I found this handkerchief, Fanny?"
—"Indeed, sir, I can't tell; but, thank you, sir,
for I am so glad it is found."—"I found it in
the wine-cellar." I must have looked very
much alarmed, for my mistress said kindly,—
"Don't look so frightened, Fanny." My master
rang the bell: it was answered by Mary Wild.
"Stay here," he said; "and, Fanny, go and tell
the nurse to come down." When the nurse
entered, he rang the bell again. No one came.
Indeed, there was no one to come but the
cook; and that not being her bell, she did not
think of answering it. "Shall I tell her, sir?"
said Mary Wild, who, as well as the nurse,
now beginning to suspect something was
wrong, turned very pale. "No!" said my
master, angrily, "no one shall leave the room."
Just then the door opened, and the cook
entered. The plausible smooth face she had
put on was gone in an instant, on seeing what
was the state of things. After a moment's
silence, he began: "This handkerchief," he
said, "though marked with Fanny's name,
was not put in the wine-cellar by her." He
looked sternly at the cook—"Silence!" he
said, to the cook, when she tried to speak.
He then went on: "If the three bottles of
wine stolen out of the cellar are still in the
house, they shall be found—here is a search
warrant, and at the door is a policeman, ready
to enforce its execution. There is no escape,
and in confession is the best chance of mercy."