cold, in the terrible sleep which is frost-
begotten. Oh! the joy, and the tears of
having her in my arms once again! for I
would not let him carry her; but took her,
maud and all, into my own arms, and held
her near my own warm neck and heart,
and felt the life stealing slowly back again
into her little gentle limbs. But she was still
insensible when we reached the hall, and I
had no breath for speech. We went in by
the kitchen door.

"Bring the warming-pan," said I; and I
carried her up-stairs and began undressing
her by the nursery fire, which Bessy had
kept up. I called my little lammie all the
sweet and playful names I could think of,—
even while my eyes were blinded by my
tears; and at last, oh! at length she opened
her large blue eyes. Then I put her into
her warm bed, and sent Dorothy down to tell
Miss Furnivall that all was well; and I made
up my mind to sit by my darling's bedside
the live-long night. She fell away into a
soft sleep as soon as her pretty head had
touched the pillow, and I watched by her
till morning light; when she wakened up
bright and clear— or so I thought at first—
and, my dears, so I think now.

She said, that she had fancied that she
should like to go to Dorothy, for that both
the old ladies were asleep, and it was very
dull in the drawing-room; and that, as
she was going through the west lobby, she
saw the snow through the high window
falling— falling— soft and steady; but she
wanted to see it lying pretty and white on
the ground; so she made her way into the
great hall; and then, going to the window,
she saw it bright and soft upon the drive;
but while she stood there, she saw a
little girl, not so old as she was, "but so
pretty," said my darling, "and this little
girl beckoned to me to come out; and oh,
she was so pretty and so sweet, I could not
choose but go." And then this other little
girl had taken her by the hand, and side
by side the two had gone round the east
corner.

"Now you are a naughty little girl, and
telling stories," said I. "What would your
good mamma, that is in heaven, and never
told a story in her life, say to her little
Rosamond, if she heard her— and I dare say
she does— telling stories!"

"Indeed, Hester," sobbed out my child;
"I'm telling you true. Indeed I am."

"Don't tell me!" said I, very stern. "I
tracked you by your foot-marks through the
snow; there were only yours to be seen: and
if you had had a little girl to go hand-in-
hand with you up the hill, don't you think
the foot-prints would have gone along with
yours?"

"I can't help it, dear, dear Hester," said
she, crying, "if they did not; I never looked
at her feet, but she held my hand fast and
tight in her little one, and it was very, very
cold. She took me up the Fell-path, up to
the holly trees; and there I saw a lady
weeping and crying; but when she saw me,
she hushed her weeping, and smiled very
proud and grand, and took me on her knee,
and began to lull me to sleep; and that's all,
Hester— but that is true; and my dear
mamma knows it is," said she, crying. So I
thought the child was in a fever, and
pretended to believe her, as she went over her
story— over and over again, and always the
same. At last Dorothy knocked at the door
with Miss Rosamond's breakfast; and she
told me the old ladies were down in the
eating-parlour, and that they wanted to speak
to me. They had both been into the night-
nursery the evening before, but it was after
Miss Rosamond was asleep; so they had only
looked at her— not asked me any questions.

"I shall catch it," thought I to myself, as
I went along the north gallery. "And yet,"
I thought, taking courage, "it was in their
charge I left her; and it's they that's to
blame for letting her steal away unknown and
unwatched." So I went in boldly, and told my
story. I told it all to Miss Furnivall, shouting
it close to her ear; but when I came to
the mention of the other little girl out in the
snow, coaxing and tempting her out, and
wiling her up to the grand and beautiful lady
by the Holly-tree, she threw her arms up
— her old and withered arms— and cried
aloud, "Oh! Heaven, forgive! Have mercy!"

Mrs. Stark took hold of her; roughly
enough, I thought; but she was past Mrs.
Stark's management, and spoke to me, in a
kind of wild warning and authority.

"Hester! keep her from that child! It
will lure her to her death! That evil child!
Tell her it is a wicked, naughty child." Then,
Mrs. Stark hurried me out of the room;
where, indeed, I was glad enough to go; but
Miss Furnivall kept shrieking out, "Oh! have
mercy! Wilt Thou never forgive! It is
many a long year ago——"

I was very uneasy in my mind after that.
I durst never leave Miss Rosamond, night or
day, for fear lest she might slip off again,
after some fancy or other; and all the more,
because I thought I could make out that
Miss Furnivall was crazy, from their odd
ways about her; and I was afraid lest
something of the same kind (which might be in
the family, you know) hung over my darling.
And the great frost never ceased all this time;
and, whenever it was a more stormy night
than usual, between the gusts, and through
the wind, we heard the old lord playing on
the great organ. But, old lord, or not,
wherever Miss Rosamond went, there I
followed; for my love for her, pretty helpless
orphan, was stronger than my fear for
the grand and terrible sound. Besides, it
rested with me to keep her cheerful and
merry, as beseemed her age. So we played
together, and wandered together, here and
there, and everywhere; for I never dared