With the sad little being hanging to her hand, Aurelia was led by Fay round their new abiding place.  The house was of brick, shaped like the letter H, Dutch, and with a tall wing, at each end of the main body, projecting, and finishing in fantastic gables edged with stone.  One of these square wings was appropriated to Aurelia and her charges, the other to the recluse Mr. Belamour.  The space that lay between the two wings, on the garden front, was roofed over, and paved with stone, descending in several broad shallow steps at the centre and ends, guarded at each angle by huge carved eagles, the crest of the builder, of the most regular patchwork, and kept, in spite of the owner’s non-residence, in perfect order.  The strange thing was that this fair and stately place, basking in the sunshine of early June, should be left in complete solitude save for the hermit in the opposite wing, the three children, and the girl, who felt as though in a kind of prison.

The sun was too hot for Aurelia to go out of doors till late in the day, when the shadow of the house came over the steps.  She was sitting on one, with Amoret nestled in her lap, and was crooning an old German lullaby of Nannerl’s, which seemed to have a wonderful effect in calming the child, who at last fell into a doze.  Aurelia had let her voice die away, and had begun to think over her strange situation, when she was startled by a laugh behind her, and looking round, hardly repressed a start or scream, at the sight of Fay enjoying a game at bo-peep, with—­yes—­it actually was—­the negro—­ over the low-sashed door.

“I beg pardon, ma’am,” said Jumbo, twitching his somewhat grizzled wool; “I heard singing, and little missy—­”

Unfortunately Amoret here awoke, and with a shriek of horror cowered in her arms.

“I am so sorry,” said Aurelia, anxious not to hurt his feelings.  “She knows no better.”

Jumbo grinned, bowed, and withdrew, Fay running after him, for she had made friends with him during her days of solitude, being a fearless child, and not having been taught to make a bugbear of him.  “The soot won’t come off,” she said.

Aurelia had not a moment to herself till Fay had said the Lord’s prayer at her knee, and Amoret, with much persuasion, had been induced to lisp out—­

“Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,
Bless the bed I sleep upon;
Four corners to by bed,
Four angles round my head,
One to read and one to write,
And two to guard my soul at night.”

Another agony for mammy ensued, nor could Aurelia leave the child till sleep had hushed the wailings.  Then only could she take her little writing-case to begin her letter to Betty.  It would be an expensive luxury to her family, but she knew how it would be longed for; and though she cried a good deal over her writing, she felt as if she ought to make the best of her position, for had not Betty said it