How she longed for Evelyn, Grace, Max; even Rosie and the grown up-people at Viamede!

It was a long evening to her; she thought the hands of the clock had never before moved so slowly.

At nine a bell called them all into Professor Manton’s school-room, where he read a chapter from the Bible, and made a long prayer in a dull, monotonous tone, that set most of his hearers to nodding or indulging in half-suppressed gapes and yawns.

It struck Lulu as a very different service as conducted by him, from what she had been accustomed to under the lead of her father or Mr. Dinsmore.  They had always shown by tone and manner that they esteemed it a solemn and a blessed thing to read the words of inspiration and draw near to God in prayer; while this man went through it as a mere matter of form, of no more interest than the calling of the roll at the opening of school.

The service was followed by a formal good-night, and the pupils scattered to their rooms.

“The bell will tap in half an hour, Miss Raymond, and at the first sound every light must be instantly extinguished,” Miss Diana said harshly, as she gave Lulu her candle.

“But what if I have not finished undressing?” Lulu asked in dismay.

“Then you will be obliged to finish in the dark.”

“There won’t be time to write in my diary, and I’ll have to say my prayers in the dark,” Lulu said to herself as she hastened up the stairs and into her closet-like apartment.

“What a forlorn bit of a place it is!” she grumbled half aloud; “oh, so different from my pretty rooms at Ion and Viamede!  Oh dear, oh dear!  I wish that horrid Signor Foresti was back in his own country.  I’m glad he doesn’t live in this house, so I’d have to see him every day; it’s bad enough to have to stay here without that.  But I don’t mean to let Grandpa Dinsmore find out how bad his punishment is; no, nor to be conquered by it either.”

She had set down her candle and was hurriedly making ready for bed.

On creeping in, having blown out her candle just as the signal sounded, she discovered a new reason for regretting her change of residence; she must sleep—­if she could—­on a hard pallet of straw, instead of the soft, springy mattress she had been accustomed to rest upon at home.

She uttered an exclamation of disgust and impatience, fidgeted about in the vain effort to find a comfortable spot, and sighed wearily over the hard hills and hollows.

How Mamma Vi and Grandma Elsie too would pity her!  Probably they would say she must have a better bed, even if it had to be sent from Viamede.

But then Grandpa Dinsmore might put his veto upon that, saying, as he had that day in regard to the room, that it was quite as good as she deserved; and she would not give him the chance:  she would put up with the hard bed, as well as with all the other disagreeables of the situation, nor give up in the very least about the music-lessons.