— I asked Dorothy to take charge of little
Missey when, she came out of the drawing-
room, after Miss Furnivall had had her nap;
for it was too cold to take her with me to
church, and yet I wanted to go. And Dorothy
was glad enough to promise, and was so
fond of the child that all seemed well; and
Bessy and I set off very briskly, though the
sky hung heavy and black over the white
earth, as if the night had never fully gone
away; and the air, though still, was very
biting and keen.

"We shall have a fall of snow," said Bessy
to me. And sure enough, even while we were
in church, it came down thick, in great large
flakes, so thick it almost darkened the
windows. It had stopped snowing before we
came out, but it lay soft, thick and deep
beneath our feet, as we tramped home.
Before we got to the hall the moon rose, and
I think it was lighter then,— what with the
moon, and what with the white dazzling snow
— than it had been when we went to church,
between two and three o'clock. I have not
told you that Miss Furnivall and Mrs. Stark
never went to church: they used to read
the prayers together, in their quiet gloomy
way; they seemed to feel the Sunday very
long without their tapestry-work to be busy
at. So when I went to Dorothy in the
kitchen, to fetch Miss Rosamond and take her
up-stairs with me, I did not much wonder
when the old woman told me that the ladies
had kept the child with them, and that she
had never come to the kitchen, as I had
bidden her, when she was tired of behaving
pretty in the drawing-room. So I took off
my things and went to find her, and bring
her to her supper in the nursery. But when
I went into the best drawing-room, there sat
the two old ladies, very still and quiet, dropping
out a word now and then, but looking as
if nothing so bright and merry as Miss Rosamond
had ever been near them. Still I
thought she might be hiding from me; it
was one of her pretty ways; and that she had
persuaded them to look as if they knew
nothing about her; so I went softly peeping
under this sofa, and behind that chair,
making believe I was sadly frightened at not
finding her.

"What's the matter, Hester?" said Mrs.
Stark sharply. I don't know if Miss Furnivall
had seen me, for, as I told you, she was very
deaf, and she sat quite still, idly staring into
the fire, with her hopeless face. "I'm only
looking for my little Rosy-Posy," replied I,
still thinking that the child was there, and
near me, though I could not see her.

"Miss Rosamond is not here," said Mrs.
Stark. "She went away more than an hour
ago to find Dorothy." And she too turned
and went on looking into the fire.

My heart sank at this, and I began to wish
I had never left my darling. I went back to
Dorothy and told her. James was gone out
for the day, but she and me and Bessy took
lights, and went up into the nursery first
and then we roamed over the great large
house, calling and entreating Miss Rosamond
to come out of her hiding place, and not
frighten us to death in that way. But there
was no answer; no sound.

"Oh!" said I at last, "Can she have got
into the east wing and hidden there?"

But Dorothy said it was not possible, for
that she herself had never been in there; that
the doors were always locked, and my lord's
steward had the keys, she believed; at any
rate, neither she nor James had ever seen
them: so, I said I would go back and see
if, after all, she was not hidden in the
drawing-room, unknown to the old ladies; and if
I found her there, I said, I would whip her
well for the fright she had given me; but I
never meant to do it. Well, I went back to
the west drawing-room, and I told Mrs. Stark
we could not find her anywhere, and asked
for leave to look all about the furniture
there, for I thought now, that she might
have fallen asleep in some warm hidden
corner; but no! we looked, Miss Furnivall
got up and looked, trembling all over, and
she was no where there; then we set off
again, every one in the house, and looked in
all the places we had searched before, but
we could not find her. Miss Furnivall
shivered and shook so much, that Mrs. Stark
took her back into the warm drawing-room;
but not before they had made me promise to
bring her to them when she was found. Well-
a-day! I began to think she never would be
found, when I bethought me to look out into
the great front court, all covered with snow.
I was up-stairs when I looked out; but, it
was such clear moonlight, I could see quite
plain two little footprints, which might be
traced from the hall door, and round the
corner of the east wing. I don't know how
I got down, but I tugged open the great, stiff
hall door; and, throwing the skirt of my gown
over my head for a cloak, I ran out. I
turned the east corner, and there a black
shadow fell on the snow; but when I came
again into the moonlight, there were the
little footmarks going up— up to the Fells.
It was bitter cold; so cold that the air almost
took the skin off my face as I ran, but I ran
on, crying to think how my poor little darling
must be perished and frightened. I was
within sight of the holly-trees, when I saw a
shepherd coming down the hill, bearing
something in his arms wrapped in his maud. He
shouted to me, and asked me if I had lost a
bairn; and, when I could not speak for crying,
he bore towards me, and I saw my wee bairnie
lying still, and white, and stiff, in his arms, as
if she had been dead. He told me he had
been up the Fells to gather in his sheep,
before the deep cold of night came on, and
that under the holly-trees (black marks on
the hill-side, where no other bush was for
miles around) he had found my little lady—
my lamb— my queen— my darling— stiff and