that were more like wild cats than human beings.  She might as well have talked to wild cats, I’m sure.  But I don’t think she was ever so miserable again as she must have been before her illness; for she used often to come and see me of an evening, and she would sit there where you are sitting now for an hour at a time, without speaking, her thin white hands lying folded in her lap, and her eyes fixed on the fire.  I used to wonder what she could be thinking about, and I had made up my mind she was not long for this world; when all at once it was announced that Miss Oldcastle, who had been to school for some time, was coming home; and then we began to see a great deal of company, and for month after month the house was more or less filled with visitors, so that my time was constantly taken up, and I saw much less of poor Miss Wallis than I had seen before.  But when we did meet on some of the back stairs, or when she came to my room for a few minutes before going to bed, we were just as good friends as ever.  And I used to say, “I wish this scurry was over, my dear, that we might have our old times again.”  And she would smile and say something sweet.  But I was surprised to see that her health began to come back—­at least so it seemed to me, for her eyes grew brighter and a flush came upon her pale face, and though the children were as tiresome as ever, she didn’t seem to mind it so much.  But indeed she had not very much to do with them out of school hours now; for when the spring came on, they would be out and about the place with their sister or one of their brothers; and indeed, out of doors it would have been impossible for Miss Wallis to do anything with them.  Some of the visitors would take to them too, for they behaved so badly to nobody as to Miss Wallis, and indeed they were clever children, and could be engaging enough when they pleased.—­But then I had a blow, Samuel.  It was a lovely spring night, just after the sun was down, and I wanted a drop of milk fresh from the cow for something that I was making for dinner the next day; so I went through the kitchen-garden and through the belt of young larches to go to the shippen.  But when I got among the trees, who should I see at the other end of the path that went along, but Miss Wallis walking arm-in-arm with Captain Crowfoot, who was just home from India, where he had been with Lord Clive.  The captain was a man about two or three and thirty, a relation of the family, and the son of Sir Giles Crowfoot’—­who lived then in this old house, sir, and had but that one son, my father, you see, sir.—­’And it did give me a turn,’ said my aunt, ’to see her walking with him, for I felt as sure as judgment that no good could come of it.  For the captain had not the best of characters—­that is, when people talked about him in chimney corners, and such like, though he was a great favourite with everybody that knew nothing about him.  He was a fine, manly, handsome fellow, with a smile that, as people said,