gan to hope
that she had touched her grandmother's heart, and that her request would
be granted: but she was soon undeceived.

'I am sorry to be obliged to refuse you a favour, Mary, but I must stand
by Steadman,' said her ladyship. 'When I gave Steadman permission to
shelter his aged kinsman in my house, I made it a condition that the old
man should be kept in the strictest care by himself and his wife, and
that nobody in this establishment should be troubled by him. This
condition has been so scrupulously adhered to that the old man's
existence is known to no one in this house except you and me; and you
have discovered the fact only by accident. I must beg you to keep this
secret to yourself. Steadman has particular reasons for wishing to
conceal the fact of his uncle's residence here. The old man is not
actually a lunatic. If he were we should be violating the law by keeping
him here. He is only imbecile from extreme old age; the body has
outlived the mind, that is all. But should any officious functionary
come down upon Fellside, this imbecility might be called madness, and
the poor old creature whom you regard so compassionately, and whose case
you think so pitiable here, would be carried off to a pauper lunatic
asylum, which I can assure you would be a much worse imprisonment than
Fellside Manor.'

'Yes, indeed, grandmother,' exclaimed Mary, whose vivid imagination
conjured up a vision of padded cells, strait-waist-coats,
murderously-inclined keepers, chains, handcuffs, and bread and water
diet, 'now I understand why the poor old soul has been kept so
close--why nobody knows of his existence. I beg Steadman's pardon with
all my heart. He is a much better fellow than I thought him.'

'Steadman is a thoroughly good fellow, and as true as steel,' said her
ladyship. 'No one can know that so well as the mistress he has served
faithfully for nearly half a century. I hope, Mary, you have not been
chattering to Fraeulein or any one else about your discovery.'

'No, grandmother, I have not said a word to a mortal, but----'

'Oh, there is a "but," is there? I understand. You have not been so
reticent in your letters to Mr. Hammond.'

'I tell him all that happens to me. There is very little to write about
at Fellside; yet I contrive to send him volumes. I often wonder what
poor girls did in the days of Miss Austen's novels, when letters cost a
shilling or eighteen pence for postage, and had to be paid for by the
recip