Aurelia shook her head a little as she sat up in bed with her clasped hands; and there was a look on her face that Mrs. Loveday did not understand, as she went on with her advice.

“So, my dear young lady, you see all that is left for you is to frame your mind to keep close here, and conform to my Lady’s will till all is blown over one way or another.”

“I know that,” said Aurelia.

“Don’t’ you do anything to anger her,” added the waiting-woman, “for there’s no one who can stand against her; and I’ll speak up for you when I can, for I know how to come round my Lady, if any one does.  Tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you; but don’t try to get out, and don’t send Madge, for she is not to be trusted with money.  If I were you, I’d not let her see that watch, and I’d lock my door at night.  You’re too innocent, whatever my Lady may say.  Here’s half a pound of tea and sugar, which you had best keep to yourself, and I’ve seen to there being things decent down stairs.  Tell me, my dear, is there anything you want?  Your clothes, did you say?  Oh, yes, you shall have them—­yes, and your books.  Here’s some warm water,” as a growling was heard at the door; “I must not wait till you are dressed, but there’s a box of shells down in your room that Mr. Wayland sent home for my Lady to line a grotto with, and she wants them all sorted out.  ’Tell her she must make herself of use if she wants to be forgiven,’ says my Lady, for she is in a mighty hurry for them now she has heard of the Duchess of Portland’s grotto; though she has let them lie here unpacked for this half year and more.  So if they are all done by night, maybe may Lady will be pleased to let you have a bit more liberty.”

Mrs. Loveday departed, having certainly cheered the captive, and Aurelia rose, weary-limbed and sad-hearted, with a patient trust in her soul that Love Divine would not fail her, and that earthly love would do its best.

She found matters improved in the down-stairs room, the furniture was in order, a clean cloth on the table, a white roll, butter, and above all clean bright implements, showing Mrs. Loveday’s influence.  She ate and drank like a hungry girl, washed up for herself rather than let Madge touch anything she could help, and looked from the window into a dull court of dreary, blighted-looking turf divided by flagged walks, radiating from a statue in the middle, representing a Triton blowing a conch—­no doubt intended to spout water, for there was a stone trough round him, but he had long forgotten his functions, and held a sparrow’s nest with streaming straws in his hand.  This must be the prison-yard, where alone she might walk, since it lay at the back of the house; and with a sense of depression she turned to the task that awaited her.