“And you may think yourself in rare luck,” continued the man; “for, remember, if it is known—­” Here he walked to the farthest end of the room, and Mother Rodesia followed him.

“You had best close up the bargain and be quick about it,” he said; “for not one penny more will you drag out of me.  I’ll give you a gold sov. for each of ’em, and that’s as much as I can manage.  They will take a sight of training, and then there’s the risk.”

“Very well,” said Mother Rodesia, “I suppose I had best do it; only they are worth more.  There’s a fortune in that little gal, and whenever you are tired of her, why, there’s a rich father to fall back on.  I spect he would give a sight of money to have her back again.  Very well, we’ll agree; only, if ever you do get a fortune out of that child, Ben Holt, you might remember poor Rodesia Lee.”

The man laughed and patted Mother Rodesia on her shoulder.  Then the pair left the room, locking the door behind them.

“What does it all mean?” said Orion.

“I don’t know,” said Diana; “but I aren’t fwightened; that aren’t me.”  Her little voice shook as she spoke, and she had great difficulty in keeping the tears back from her big, black eyes.

CHAPTER XVII.

GREASED LIGHTNING.

At the end of half an hour the door of the small room was again unlocked, and a woman with a thin, pale face, and somewhat frightened manner, appeared.  She carried a tray in her hand, which contained two little bowls of porridge, and a small jug of milk.  “So you are the two young ’uns,” she said.  “Well, you had best be quick and eat up your breakfast.  Uncle Ben is going to have a rehearsal, and he wants you to see what they are all doing.”

“We hasn’t got no Uncle Ben,” said Diana; “don’t be silly, woman.  What’s your name?” she added.

“I’m generally called Aunt Sarah,” was the reply; “and now, look here, you two little mites; I’ll be good to you if you’ll let me.  I’m real sorry you has come, and it’s against my wish, you remember that.  Now, eat up your breakfasts, both of you.  Uncle Ben, he don’t know that I have brought you porridge and milk; but children as young as you are can’t eat coarse food.  Sup up your porridge, my dears.”

“Thank you very much indeed, Aunt Sawah,” said Diana, slipping down from her seat close to Orion on the bench, and preparing to attack her breakfast.  “P’w’aps,” she continued, as she put great mouthfuls of porridge into her mouth, “when we has finished this nice bekfus you’ll take us back to Wectory?  You see, you isn’t our aunt weally, not by no manner of wights, and Uncle Ben isn’t our uncle, and so we ought not to stay here; and if we go back to Wectory, why, Uncle William, what’s our weal uncle, p’w’aps he would pay you money, if it’s money you wants.”

“Yes; it’s true enough, it is money we want,” replied the woman; “but, my dear,” she added, the tears springing to her eyes, “I can’t take you back to no Rectory.  You have just got to stay here and to watch Uncle Ben when he’s going through his rehearsal, and then this afternoon we are going on a very long journey, and you are coming with us—­and oh, I forgot to say that, when you have finished your breakfast, I must put something on your faces.”