She who had been addressed as Sister Agnes raised herself, with a deep sigh, from the shoulder of Dance, cast one long look in the direction of the spot where I was standing, and vanished slowly through the curtained arch.  Then Dance took up the broken thread of her narration, and Lady Chillington, grim and motionless, listened without a word.

Even after Dance had done speaking, her ladyship stood for some time looking straight before her, but saying nothing in reply.  I felt intuitively that my fate was hanging on the decision of those few moments, but I neither stirred nor spoke.

At length the silence was broken by Lady Chillington.  “Take the child away,” she said; “attend to her wants, make her presentable, and bring her to me in the Green Saloon after dinner.  It will be time enough to-morrow to consider what must be done with her.”

Dance curtsied again.  Her ladyship sailed slowly across the hall, and passed out through another curtained doorway.

Dance’s first act was to pay and dismiss the driver, who had been waiting outside all this time.  Then, taking me by the hand, “Come along with me, dear,” she said.  “Why, I declare, you look quite white and frightened!  You have nothing to fear, child.  We shall not eat you—­at least, not just yet; not till we have fed you up a bit.”

At the end of a long corridor was Mrs. Dance’s own room, into which I was now ushered.  Scarcely had I made a few changes in my toilette when tea for two persons was brought in, and Mrs. Dance and I sat down to table.  The old lady was well on with her second cup before she made any remark other than was required by the necessities of the occasion.

I have called her an old woman, and such she looked in my youthful eyes, although her years were only about sixty.  She wore a dark brown dress and a black silk apron, and had on a cap with thick frilled borders, under which her grey hair was neatly snooded away.  She looked ruddy and full of health.  A shrewd, sensible woman, evidently; yet with a motherly kindness about her that made me cling to her with a child’s unerring instinct.

“You look tired, poor thing,” she said, as she leisurely stirred her tea; “and well you may, considering the long journey you have had to-day.  I don’t suppose that her ladyship will keep you more than ten minutes in the Green Saloon, and after that you can go to bed as soon as you like.  What a surprise for all of us your coming has been!  Dear, dear! who would have expected such a thing this morning?  But I knew by the twitching of my corns that something uncommon was going to happen.  I was really frightened of telling her ladyship that you were here.  There’s no knowing how she might have taken it; and there’s no knowing what she will decide to do with you to-morrow.”

“But what has Lady Chillington to do with me in any way?” I asked.  “Before this morning I never even heard her name; and now it seems that she is to do what she likes with me.”