who seemed
determined not to throw a word away.

"Dead!" said I. "Dead! just like Granny," I muttered, scarcely knowing
what I was saying. The girl was going to slam the door in my face.
"Can you tell me, my good girl, who that lady is in the parlour?" said
I, stopping her.

"Yes, that's Mrs Jones," was the answer.

I was no wiser than before. "Can you tell me what her maiden name was?"
said I, in a low, trembling voice.

"Missus never was a maid-servant; she was always a lady, as she is now,"
answered the girl, with a toss of her head, again attempting to slam to
the door.

"Stop, stop!" I exclaimed, in an agitated manner. "Can you tell me
whether she was Mrs Sandon's niece?"

"She'd nothing to do with Mrs Sandon that I knows on," said the girl;
"you're asking a lot of questions. You wouldn't, if master was at
home."

I was fairly beaten. Just then I heard a footstep behind me, and on
looking round, who should I see but Miss Rundle, tripping along the
pavement up to her own door, looking as brisk and young as ever.

"Oh, Miss Rundle, I'm so glad to see you!" I exclaimed, forgetting all
the proprieties, and running after her. "Can you tell me anything about
my kind friends who lived in our old house, and where I met you last at
tea?" I thought she would have shrieked out when she saw me--she looked
so astonished.

"Why, who are you? where did you come from? What do you want? Why, I
thought you were dead. You are not alive, are you?"

"I hope so, Miss Rundle. I fancy I am. I've done nothing to kill me
lately, and I know that I was alive a short time ago," I answered,
laughing in spite of my agitation.

"Well, if you are sure that you are alive, come in here and sit down and
tell me all about it," said the little old lady, opening the door of her
house with a latch-key which she drew from her pocket, and pointing to
the parlour, which she signed to me to enter.

I took off my hat and sat down, wondering what strange news I was to
hear. She presently made her appearance, having laid aside her walking
dress. I felt myself completely at home in a moment, she looked so
exactly as she had done when I last saw her on that delightful evening I
spent at Plymouth, and I so well remembered her in the days of my
boyhood.

"Well, Willand, I am glad to see you," said she in a kinder tone than
usual. "A young man whom you know, and whose name I would rather not
repeat,--indeed I do not like thinking