gentle and quiet pull, befitting my errand. I repeated this several
times without being admitted, when it struck me that the wire might be
broken. Upon that I knocked as loudly as I could upon the panels of the
broad old door; a handsome, heavy door, such as are to be found in the
old streets of London, from which the tide of fashion has ebbed away. A
slight, thin child in rusty mourning opened it, with the chain across,
and asked who I was in a timid voice.

"Does Mrs. Wilkinson live here?" I asked.

"Yes," said the child.

"Who is there?" I heard a voice calling shrilly from within; not an
English voice, I felt sure, for each word was uttered distinctly and
slowly.

"I am come about a school in France," I said to the child.

"Oh! I'll let you in," she answered, eagerly; "she will see you about
that, I'm sure. I'm to go with you, if you go."

She let down the chain, and opened the door. There was a dim light
burning in the hall, which looked shabby and poverty-stricken. There was
no carpet upon the broad staircase, and nothing but worn-out oil-cloth
on the floor. I had only time to take in a vague general impression,
before the little girl conducted me to a room on the ground-floor. That
too was uncarpeted and barely furnished; but the light was low, and I
could see nothing distinctly, except the face of the child looking
wistfully at me with shy curiosity.

"I'm to go if you go," she said again; "and, oh! I do so hope you will
agree to go."

"I think I shall," I answered.

"I daren't be sure," she replied, nodding her head with an air of
sagacity; "there have been four or five governesses here, and none of
them would go. You'd have to take me with you; and, oh! it is such a
lovely, beautiful place. See! here is a picture of it."

She ran eagerly to a side-table, on which lay a book or two, one of
which she opened, and reached out a photograph, which had been laid
there for security. When she brought it to me, she stood leaning lightly
against me as we both looked at the same picture. It was a clear,
sharply-defined photograph, with shadows so dark yet distinct as to show
the clearness of the atmosphere in which it had been taken. At the left
hand stood a handsome house, with windows covered with lace curtains,
and provided with outer Venetian shutters. In the centre stood a large
square garden, with fountains, and arbors, and statues, in the French
style of gardening, evidently well kept; and behind this