dge of
hearing something about Aunt Enticknapp, Susan slowly put her beads into
the box, and advanced to say good-bye to the visitor.

"_Good_-bye, darling," said Mrs Millet, kissing her caressingly. "Why,
you _are_ a lucky little girl to be going to the sea-side."

Her manner was always affectionate, but her voice never sounded kind to
Susan, and these words did not make half the impression of Maria's "Por
little thing."

That remark still lingered in Susan's mind, and as she climbed slowly
upstairs to the top of the house, she thought to herself that the only
chance now of speaking to Mother was when she came up to see her after
she was in bed. That was sometimes very late indeed, often when Susan
was fast asleep, and knew nothing about it.

"But to-night," she said to herself, "I _will_ keep awake. I'll pinch
myself directly I feel the least bit sleepy;" for the mystery
surrounding Aunt Enticknapp's house had deepened. Susan had now to
wonder what sort of things Bahia girls were, and why she kept them at
Ramsgate.

So, after Nurse and Maria had gone down-stairs she lay with her eyes
wide open, watching the glimmering light which the lamps outside cast on
the ceiling, and listening to the noise in the street below. Roll,
roll, rumble, rumble, it went on without a break, for the house was in
the midst of the great city of London. In the day-time she never
noticed this noise much, but at night when everything else was silent,
and everyone was going to sleep, it was strange to think that it still
went on and on like that. Did it never stop? Sometimes she had tried
to keep awake, so that she might find out, but she had never been able
to do it. She had always fallen asleep with that roll, roll, roll,
sounding in her ears. It must be getting very late now, surely Mother
must come soon! I'll count a hundred, said Susan to herself, and then I
shall hear her coming upstairs. But when she had done there was no
sound at all in the house; not even a door shutting. It was all quite
quiet.

"Can I have _been_ asleep without knowing it?" she thought in alarm, and
then--"can Mother have forgotten to come?" This last thought was so
painful that she sat up in bed, stretched out her arms towards the door,
and said out loud:

"Oh, _do_ come, Mother." There was no answer, and no sound except the
cinders falling in the grate, and the rumble of the wheels below. Susan
gave a little sob; she felt deserted, disappoin