lamps had been
lighted and there was only a little firelight to make the darkness and
emptiness of the large room more noticeable. She knelt down on the
hearth-rug and buried her face in the seat of Mrs. Rushton's favourite
arm-chair. The dearest of all her dear dogs, Scamp, came and laid his
black muzzle beside her ear, as if he knew the whole case and wanted to
mourn with her. Two hours passed; Hetty listened intently for every
sound, and wondered impatiently why Mr. and Mrs. Enderby did not arrive.
She got up and carefully placed some lumps of coal on the fire, making
no noise lest some one should come and order her off to bed. She was
resolved to stay there all night rather than go to bed without learning
something more.

At last a sound of wheels was heard, and Hetty went and peeped out of
the drawing-room door and saw Mr. and Mrs. Enderby taking off their
wraps in the hall. Their faces were very solemn and they spoke in
whispers. She saw them go upstairs, and though longing to follow them,
did not dare. Then she retreated back into the drawing-room and buried
her face once more in the depths of the chair.

In this position, with Scamp's rough head close to hers, she cried
herself to sleep. The wintry dawn was just beginning to show faintly in
the room when she was awakened by the sound of voices near her. Chilled
and stiff she gathered herself up and rose to her feet; and Scamp also
got up and shook himself. Then Hetty saw Mr. and Mrs. Enderby standing
in earnest conversation at the window.

They started when they saw her as if she had been a ghost, and Mrs.
Enderby exclaimed in a low voice:

"The child! I had quite forgotten her!"

"Yes, there will be trouble here," muttered Mr. Enderby; while Hetty
came forward, her face pale and stained with crying, her dress
disordered, and her curly hair wild and disarranged. She looked so
altered that they scarcely knew her.

"How is she? Oh, Mrs. Enderby, say she is better," cried Hetty,
swallowing a sob.

"My dear child," said Mrs. Enderby, "how have you come to be forgotten
here, have you not been in bed all night?"

"I stayed here," said Hetty, "I wanted to know; will you not tell me how
she is?"

"My child, she is well, I hope, though not as you would wish to see her.
It has pleased God to take her away from you."

"Do you mean that she is dead?"

"Yes, my poor Hetty, I am grieved to tell you it is so."

Hetty uttered a sharp cry and turned her back on