y did she always turn away her head when she
saw me, as nervous people do, when they see a poor blind worm, or a
mouse?--do you know why, little mother?"

"Forget it, dear," she said. "Poor Rose was an unhappy woman; she took
no pleasure in anything. _She_ really never was young at any time; not
even as a little girl--I never saw her really merry, while I used to be
full of mirth and mischief. In our own home, where we lived before our
dear mother died, it was quite different to this ridiculous little
puffed-up place, which is neither town nor country, and where people
are always standing upon their dignity, even though they were to
perish with it in their own dullness. When I hear of your stupid
dancing-lessons, and of the amusements you have here, that can as
little enliven the dreary winter, as the couple of wretched little
oil-lamps can the dull streets--then I really do feel as if I were--not
nine-and-twenty--but nine-and-ninety; and as if I had lived so long--so
long as to remember the days, when the children of men were innocent
and dwelt in Paradise."

"Did you ever care for dancing?"

"I danced all day, like the mermaids. Wherever I went and stood, I had
the three-quarter time in my toes, and the prettiest of the quadrille
tunes; and so I danced at my spinning-wheel, and while I was watching
the kitchen-fire, or plaiting up my poor mother's hair, who could not
easily lift her arms. Nay, even in church, I have caught myself singing
the Psalms, and beating valse time with my foot--and terribly ashamed I
was, afterwards, when I thought what a sin it was. It was a disease I
had; but I was soon cured. Ever after I found out that I had given
away my heart to a heartless man, my feet seemed shod with lead. I
never entered a ballroom again; and though in church my thoughts
were often far away, they were not in a merrier place, but in a
quieter--darker--farther above, or below the earth."

A silence followed, and they heard the watchman pass again, and the
clock strike twelve.

"This is the hour for the ghosts to dance," said Walter with a laugh,
and a sort of superstitions shudder. "What do you say to taking a turn,
little mother? I don't know why, but I do feel a most inordinate desire
to see you dance. The Meister is still at the Star. On a Saturday, you
know, he never comes home till one o'clock. We have the house to
ourselves, and may do what we please, without anybody's being the
wiser--unless indeed, that r