“Dear Sister Agnes,” I said, “you seem to know my history, and all about me.  Did you know my papa and mamma?”

She dropped the leaf that held her fruit, and turned on me a haggard, frightened face that made my own grow pale.

“What makes you think that I know your history?” she stammered out.

“You who are so intimate with Lady Chillington must know why I was brought to Deepley Walls:  you must know something about me.  If you know anything about my father and mother, oh! do please tell me; please do!”

“I am tired, Janet.  Let us sit down,” she said, wearily.  So, hand in hand, we went back to the rustic seat and sat down.

She sat for a minute or two without speaking, gazing straight before her into some far-away forest vista, but seeing only with that inner eye which searches through the dusty chambers of heart and brain whenever some record of the past has to be brought forth to answer the questions of to-day.

“I do know your history, dear child,” she said at length, “and both your parents were friends of mine.”

“Were!  Then neither of them is alive?”

“Alas! no.  They have been dead many years.  Your father was drowned in one of the Italian lakes.  Your mother died a year afterwards.”

All the sweet vague hopes that I had cherished in secret, ever since I could remember anything, of some day finding at least one of my parents alive, died out utterly as Sister Agnes said these words.  My heart seemed to faint within me.  I flung myself into her arms, and burst into tears.

Very tenderly and lovingly, with sweet caresses and words of comfort, did Sister Agnes strive to win me back to cheerfulness.  Her efforts were not unsuccessful, and after a time I grew calmer and recovered my self-possession; and as soon as so much was accomplished we set out on our return to Deepley Walls.

As we rose to go, I said, “Since you have told me so much, Sister Agnes, will you not also tell me why I have been brought to Deepley Walls, and why Lady Chillington has anything to do with me?”

“That is a question, dear Janet, which I cannot answer,” she said.  “I am bound to Lady Chillington by a solemn promise not to reveal to you the nature of the secret bond which has brought you under her roof.  That she has your welfare at heart you may well believe, and that it is to your interest to please her in every possible way is equally certain.  More than this I dare not say, except there are certain pages of your history, some of them of a very painful character, which it would not be advisable that you should read till you shall be many years older than you are now.  Meanwhile rest assured that in Lady Chillington, however eccentric she may seem to be, you have a firm and powerful friend; while in me, who have neither influence nor power, you have one who simply loves you, and prays night and day for your welfare.”

“And you will never cease to love me, will you?” I said, just as we stepped out of the forest into the high road.