gloomy; but we did not stay there a moment.
The old servant who had opened the door for
us bowed to Mr. Henry, and took us in
through the door at the further side of the
great organ, and led us through several
smaller halls and passages into the west
drawing-room, where he said that Miss
Furnivall was sitting. Poor little Miss Rosamond
held very tight to me, as if she were scared
and lost in that great place, and, as for myself,
I was not much better. The west drawing-
room was very cheerful-looking, with a warm
fire in it, and plenty of good comfortable
furniture about. Miss Furnivall was an old
lady not far from eighty, I should think, but
I do not know. She was thin and tall, and
had a face as full of fine wrinkles as if they
had been drawn all over it with a needle's
point. Her eyes were very watchful, to make
up, I suppose, for her being so deaf as to be
obliged to use a trumpet. Sitting with her,
working at the same great piece of tapestry,
was Mrs. Stark, her maid and companion, and
almost as old as she was. She had lived with
Miss Furnivall ever since they both were
young, and now she seemed more like a friend
than a servant; she looked so cold and grey,
and stony, as if she had never loved or cared
for any one; and I don't suppose she did care
for any one, except her mistress; and, owing
to the great deafness of the latter, Mrs. Stark
treated her very much as if she were a child.
Mr. Henry gave some message from my lord,
and then he bowed good-bye to us all,—
taking no notice of my sweet little Miss
Rosamond's out- stretched hand— and left us
standing there, being looked at by the two
old ladies through their spectacles.

I was right glad when they rung for the
old footman who had shown us in at first,
and told him to take us to our rooms. So we
went out of that great drawing-room, and
into another sitting-room, and out of that,
and then up a great flight of stairs, and along
a broad gallery— which was something like a
library, having books all down one side, and
windows and writing-tables all down the other
— till we came to our rooms, which I was not
sorry to hear were just over the kitchens; for
I began to think I should be lost in that wilderness
of a house. There was an old nursery,
that had been used for all the little lords and
ladies long ago, with a pleasant fire burning
in the grate, and the kettle boiling on the hob,
and tea things spread out on the table; and
out of that room was the night-nursery, with
a little crib for Miss Rosamond close to my
bed. And old James called up Dorothy, his
wife, to bid us welcome; and both he and
she were so hospitable and kind, that by-and-
by Miss Rosamond and me felt quite at home;
and by the time tea was over, she was sitting
on Dorothy's knee, and chattering away as fast
as her little tongue could go. I soon found
out that Dorothy was from Westmoreland,
and that bound her and me together, as it
were; and I would never wish to meet with
kinder people than were old James and his
wife. James had lived pretty nearly all his
life in my lord's family, and thought there
was no one so grand as they. He even looked
down a little on his wife; because, till he had
married her, she had never lived in any but a
farmer's household. But he was very fond of
her, as well he might be. They had one
servant under them, to do all the rough work.
Agnes they called her; and she and me, and
James and Dorothy, with Miss Furnivall and
Mrs. Stark, made up the family; always
remembering my sweet little Miss Rosamond!
I used to wonder what they had done before
she came, they thought so much of her now.
Kitchen and drawing-room, it was all the
same. The hard, sad Miss Furnivall, and the
cold Mrs. Stark, looked pleased when she
came fluttering in like a bird, playing and
pranking hither and thither, with a continual
murmur, and pretty prattle of gladness. I
am sure, they were sorry many a time when
she flitted away into the kitchen, though they
were too proud to ask her to stay with them,
and were a little surprised at her taste;
though, to be sure, as Mrs. Stark said, it was
not to be wondered at, remembering what
stock her father had come of. The great, old
rambling house, was a famous place for little
Miss Rosamond. She made expeditions all
over it, with me at her heels; all, except the
east wing, which was never opened, and
whither we never thought of going. But in
the western and northern part was many a
pleasant room; full of things that were
curiosities to us, though they might not have
been to people who had seen more. The
windows were darkened by the sweeping
boughs of the trees, and the ivy which had
overgrown them: but, in the green gloom, we
could manage to see old China jars and
carved ivory boxes, and great heavy books,
and, above all, the old pictures!

Once, I remember, my darling would have
Dorothy go with us to tell us who they all
were; for they were all portraits of some of
my lord's family, though Dorothy could not
tell us the names of every one. We had gone
through most of the rooms, when we came to
the old state drawing-room, over the hall, and
there was a picture of Miss Furnivall; or, as
she was called in those days, Miss Grace, for
she was the younger sister. Such a beauty
she must have been! but with such a set,
proud look, and such scorn looking out of her
handsome eyes, with her eyebrows just a little
raised, as if she wondered how any one could
have the impertinence to look at her; and
her lip curled at us, as we stood there gazing.
She had a dress on, the like of which I had
never seen before, but it was all the fashion
when she was young; a hat of some soft
white stuff like beaver, pulled a little over
her brows, and a beautiful plume of feathers
sweeping round it on one side; and her gown
of blue satin was open in front to a quilted
white stomacher.