south parlour will be
ready for you to-morrow."

"Is not Mrs. Dove coming?" faintly asked Aurelia.

"Mrs. Dove is gone to London to attend on little Master Wayland. You are
to be here with the young ladies, ma'am."

"What young ladies?" asked the bewildered maiden.

"My Lady's little daughters--the Misses Wayland. I thought she had sent
you her instructions; but I see you are over wearied and daunted," she
added, more kindly; "you will be better when you have taken some food.
Molly, I say, you sluggard of a wench, bring the lady's supper, and
don't stand gaping there."

Mrs. Aylward hurried away to hasten operations, and Aurelia began
somewhat to recover her senses, though she was still so much dismayed
that she dreaded to look up lest she should see something frightful, and
started at the first approach of steps.

A dainty little supper was placed before her, but she was too faint and
sick at heart for appetite, and would have excused herself. However,
Mrs. Aylward severely said she would have no such folly, filled a glass
of wine, and sternly administered it; then setting her down in a large
chair, helped her to a delicate cutlet. She ate for very fright, but
her cheeks and eyes were brightened, the mists of terror and exhaustion
began to clear away, and when she accepted a second help, she had felt
herself reassured that she had not fallen into unkindly hands. If she
could only have met a smile she would have been easier, but Mrs. Aylward
was a woman of sedate countenance and few words, and the straight set
line of lips encouraged no questioning, so she merely uttered thanks for
each act of hospitality.

"There! You will take no more roll? You are better, now, but you will
not be sorry to go to your bed," said Mrs. Aylward, taking up a candle,
and guiding her along the passage up a long stair to a pretty room
wainscoted and curtained with fresh white dimity, and the window showing
the young moon pale in the light of the western sky.

Bedrooms were little furnished, and this was more luxurious than the
dear old chamber at home, but the girl had never before slept alone, and
she felt unspeakably lonely in the dreariness, longing more than ever
for Betty's kiss--even for Betty's blame--or for a whine from Harriet;
and she positively hungered for a hug from Eugene, as she gazed timidly
at the corners beyond the influence of her candle; and instead of
unpacking the little riding mail she kissed it, and laid her c