t a piece of it between his fingers.

"Rub that and see how thick and warm it is," she said. "I will pinch
you a little if you like, to show you how real I am. For a minute I
thought you might be a dream too."

"Where did you come from?" he asked.

"From my own room. The wind wuthered so I couldn't go to sleep and I
heard some one crying and wanted to find out who it was. What were you
crying for?"

"Because I couldn't go to sleep either and my head ached. Tell me your
name again."

"Mary Lennox. Did no one ever tell you I had come to live here?"

He was still fingering the fold of her wrapper, but he began to look a
little more as if he believed in her reality.

"No," he answered. "They daren't."

"Why?" asked Mary.

"Because I should have been afraid you would see me. I won't let
people see me and talk me over."

"Why?" Mary asked again, feeling more mystified every moment.

"Because I am like this always, ill and having to lie down. My father
won't let people talk me over either. The servants are not allowed to
speak about me. If I live I may be a hunchback, but I shan't live. My
father hates to think I may be like him."

"Oh, what a queer house this is!" Mary said. "What a queer house!
Everything is a kind of secret. Rooms are locked up and gardens are
locked up--and you! Have you been locked up?"

"No. I stay in this room because I don't want to be moved out of it.
It tires me too much."

"Does your father come and see you?" Mary ventured.

"Sometimes. Generally when I am asleep. He doesn't want to see me."

"Why?" Mary could not help asking again.

A sort of angry shadow passed over the boy's face.

"My mother died when I was born and it makes him wretched to look at
me. He thinks I don't know, but I've heard people talking. He almost
hates me."

"He hates the garden, because she died," said Mary half speaking to
herself.

"What garden?" the boy asked.

"Oh! just--just a garden she used to like," Mary stammered. "Have you
been here always?" "Nearly always. Sometimes I have been taken to
places at the seaside, but I won't stay because people stare at me. I
used to wear an iron thing to keep my back straight, but a grand doctor
came from London to see me and said it was stupid. He told them to
take it off and keep me out in the fresh air. I hate fresh air and I
don't want to go out."

"I didn't when first I came here," said Mary. "Why do you keep looking
at me li