I had not long to wait; in one of the weekly papers, of which my uncle took many, I one day discovered an advertisement, which to my morbid fancy seemed sent by fate especially to me.

A young lady was wanted to take charge of the education of a boy of eleven years.  Upon reading this advertisement, I immediately sat down and wrote a letter, offering my services.

By return mail I received a note acknowledging the receipt of mine, and stating that as I was the only applicant and my testimonials satisfactory, I was accepted.

I informed my uncle of my good fortune.  He received the news with a gruff approval, adding that he hoped I would do well, as I could expect no further pecuniary aid from him than would be sufficient to carry me there.

My emotions, as I packed my little trunk on that memorable Saturday, were of a mixed character; but pleasure predominated.  Hope beckoned me on; and the sadness attendant on breaking loose from the unfriendly home in which I had lived so long was but transitory.

Monday morning saw me seated composedly in the rail-coach on the way to “Bristed Hall,” my destination.  Towards nightfall we stopped at a station in a desolate, sparsely-inhabited district.  My road diverging here, I hurried out, and the long train which connected me with my past life sped out of sight.

Drawing my veil closely to my face to hide a few falling tears, I looked around the desolate waiting-room, to see if any fellow-creature was expecting me.  As I did so a heavy, thumping footstep sounded upon the platform, and a surly voice inquired: 

“Are you Miss Reef?” accompanying the question by a slight pull at my shawl.

Turning, I beheld a deformed little man with long arms and a high back, awaiting my answer to his question.  I summoned courage to ask: 

“Were you sent for Miss Reef?”

“Yes,” he replied, “I am Mr. Bristed’s man.  He told me to drive here and fetch home a Miss Reef—­if you are that person, miss!” touching his hat with an effort at politeness.

“I am,” I answered, and without further ado we proceeded to the carriage, which he had left waiting at the rear platform.

The evening air was chilly, for it was quite sunset.  Drawing my shawl around me, I ensconced myself in a corner of the vehicle, and watched the fading landscape with stolid indifference to whatever might befall me.

We drove on thus for a good hour and a half, halting at length before a dark, massy object, the form of which my dozy eyes could not discern.  However, it proved to be Bristed Hall.

I emerged from the carriage and passed up the steps to an open door which, at the pausing of our carriage wheels, had been set ajar.  An old woman, the feminine counterpart of my sulky driver, stood in the dimly-lighted passage-way to receive me.  She vouchsafed me but a grum welcome, but I felt already too desolate and weary to experience any further depression from her humor.