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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
221
On
coming
downstairs
I
found
Mrs
Forrester
waiting
for
me
at
the
entrance
to
the
dining-parlour;
she
drew
me
in,
and
when
the
door
was
shut,
she
tried
two
or
three
times
to
begin
on
some
subject,
which
was
so
unapproachable
apparently,
that
I
began
to
despair
of
our
ever
getting
to
a
clear
understanding.
At
last
out
it
came;
the
poor
old
lady
trembling
all
the
time
as
if
it
were
a
great
crime
which
she
was
exposing
to
daylight,
in
telling
me
how
very,
very
little
she
had
to
live
upon;
a
confession
which
she
was
brought
to
make
from
a
dread
lest
we
should
think
that
the
small
contribution
named
in
her
paper
bore
any
proportion
to
her
love
and
regard
for
Miss
Matty.
And
yet
that
sum
which
she
so
eagerly
relinquished
was,
in
truth,
more
than
a
twentieth
part
of
what
she
had
to
live
upon,
and
keep
house,
and
a
little
serving-maid,
all
as
became
one
born
a
Tyrrell.
And
when
the
whole
income
does
not
nearly
amount
to
a
hundred
pounds,
to
give
up
a
twentieth
of
it
will
necessitate
many
careful
economies,
and
many
pieces
of
self-denial,
small
and
insignificant
in
the
world’s
account,
but
bearing
a
different
value
in
another
account-book
that
I
have
heard
of.
She
did
so
wish
she
was
rich,
she
said,
and
this
wish
she
kept
repeating,
with
no
thought
of
herself
in
it,
only
with
a
longing,
yearning
desire
to
be
able
to
heap
up
Miss
Matty’s
measure
of
comforts.
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