repining, at an age which is but little fitted
for carrying its own burthens; and wondering
at, almost suspicious of, sympathy, how
sad and strange it seemed!

The evening was by this time coming on
apace, and the air grew chilly. Thinly clad
as she was, she must have been cold enough
and weary enough with her long travel. I gave
her a spare cloak and shared with her my railway-
wrapper, but she seemed to grow paler
and paler, and her features to wear a more
anxious look as we went on.

"It will be dark by the time we get to
town, I fear," I said after a long pause.
"How will your friends be able to find you
amidst all this crowd?"

Slowly, silently, the large tears began to
fall down her thin white cheeks.

"I have no friends in the world," she made
answer, in a voice wherein just a little
tremble thrilled. "I have run away from
school."

Although she had gone so far as to tell me
this, she did not seem to have reposed any
confidence in me; but rather to have stated an
unfortunate fact, which might appear pitiable,
and to put her in need of help, or not,
according to the nature of the person it was
imparted to.

"Well, Jeannette," said I, "my sister, to
whose house I am going, will gladly take you
in for this night, I am sure; and, to-morrow,
we will see what is to be done." She thanked
me then, and began to sob a little, but not
much. So I took her with me to my sister's,
and the next morning, after breakfast, she
told us her little history; how that she had
never known her parents, but had remained
from early childhood at her late school;
that, at first Miss Mackaveth had been kind
to her, and the girls also, and that she had
ever been made much of; but that, lately,
there had been a difference; she could not
say she was ill-treated, but rather was not
considered, and was looked down upon. She taught
the smaller girls now, as monitress, French and
music; she was a good musician—excellent
—would we like to hear her? She sat down
at the piano and executed two difficult pieces
with great spirit; and, on being shown a
quite new melody, played it off very creditably
at sight. It was with an intention of
becoming a teacher of music that she had
thus come up to London by herself. The
family of a young lady, a school-friend of
hers in the old times, would have received her
at first, doubtless; they were not aware of
her coming; they were great people, and
lived in the Edgeware Road, but she did not
know the number of their house; she had
been led to understand that that position was
the best—the most fashionable—in London.
If nothing could be done in London; if she
was indeed too young for an instructress; if
the Edgeware Road was really only a third-
rate locality; if the clergyman who had been
kind to her was going to the north again in
a few days, and if he would take her; she
supposed she had better go back again. She
would much prefer his accompanying her to
Laburnum Lodge, but was not afraid of her
school-mistress, nevertheless. In the meantime
I wrote to that lady to assure her of
Miss Jeannette's safety, and arrived within the
week with the young truant herself at
Carlisle.

Miss Mackaveth seemed unfeignedly glad
to see her little charge again. "I have a
true regard for her," said she, in the course
of a long conversation I held with her in
private, "and feel myself especially answerable
for her well-being. Eleven years ago
she was left, a very little child, in my trust,
and under very peculiar circumstances. A
Frenchwoman, a most respectable middle-
aged person, declaring herself to be the
confidential servant of an English family residing
abroad, brought her hither, with instructions
from her parents, regarding her education.
A large sum of money, in French notes, was
left with her: enough even to defray all
expenses incurred up to the last few months.
I received letters from time to time, purporting
to come from Mrs. Smith, Jeannette's
mother, a French lady, but in reality written
(as I believe) by the servant whom I had
seen. These letters grew fewer, and then
altogether ceased. When the money left
with me was expended, I wrote again and
again to Mrs. Smith in Paris, but I received
no answer. Upon personal inquiry, which I
caused to be made at her address, I learned
that no such person had ever lived there, but
that some one of that name had purchased, as
is not uncommon, the right of receiving
letters at the house. She had not been there,
however, for a considerable time, and half-a-
dozen of my communications were then lying
there unopened. Feeling pretty sure that
the child was really deserted, and not being
able to afford to keep Jeannette in idleness,
I set her to assist us in tuition. I hope my
conduct was not altered towards her in
consequence of that: I hope my sisters, who
carry on this establishment with me, made
no difference in theirs. For the young ladies
I cannot answer. I have had a considerable
experience, and I am afraid that girls are
ungenerous in these respects. I never heard
them; but I think it quite possible that some
of them, when provoked, may have called her
foundling or charity girl. If Jeannette told
you so, I should say they certainly did; for
she is very truthful. As I have said, sir, we
have a sincere regard for her on many
accounts; but not a warm affection. Without
paying over-attention to what her young
companions have said of her, I think her too
reserved, uncheerful, and secretive, to be ever
popular. (Poor little Jeannette, thought I,
how hard for such as you to win your way,
without a weapon, to our steel-clad human
hearts!) I was above measure surprised
and annoyed at her running away from us;