still, that the sweep of the dresses, and the tap of the heels made an
echo; and the sunshine, streaming in at the large window, marked out
every one upon the floor, in light and shadow, and exactly repeated
the brown-shaded, yellow-framed medallions of painted glass upon the
pavement. There was something awful and oppressive in the entire absence
of all tokens of habitation, among those many closed doors.

One, however, at the foot of the stairs was opened by Mrs. Aylward. It
led to a sort of narrow lobby, with a sashed window above a low door,
opening on stone steps down to the terrace and garden. To the right was
an open door, giving admittance to a room hung with tapestry, with a
small carpet in the centre of the floor, and a table prepared for the
morning meal. There was a certain cheerfulness about it, though it was
bare of furniture; but there was an easy chair, a settee, a long
couch, a spinnet, and an embroidery frame, so that altogether it had
capabilities of being lived in.

"Here you will sit, madam, with the young ladies," said Mrs. Aylward.
"They have a maid-servant who will wait on you, and if you require
anything, you will be pleased to speak to me. My Lady wishes you to take
charge of them, and likewise to execute the piece of embroidery you will
find in that frame, with the materials. This will be your apartment,
and you can take the young ladies into the garden and park, wherever you
please, except that they must not make a noise before the windows of the
other wing, which you will see closed with shutters, for those are Mr.
Belamour's rooms."

With these words Mrs. Aylward curtsied as if about to retire, Aurelia
held out her hand in entreaty. "Oh, cannot you stay with me?"

"No, madam, my office is the housekeeper's," was the stiff response.
"Molly will call me if you require my services. I think you said you
preferred bread and milk for breakfast. Dinner will be served at one."

Mrs. Aylward retreated, leaving a chill on the heart of the lonely girl.

She was a clergyman's widow, though with no pretensions to gentility,
and was a plain, conscientious, godly woman, but with the narrow
self-concentrated piety of the time, which seemed to ignore all the
active part of the duty to our neighbour. She had lived many years as
a faithful retainer to the Belamour family, and avoided perplexity by
minding no one's business but her own, and that thoroughly. Naturally
reserved, and disapproving much that