iving in Cousin
Cosmo's house--a most unwelcome guest.

'He never has liked me,' I thought to myself; 'even at the very
beginning, grandmamma never gave me any kind messages from him. And
those poor boys Gerard told me of couldn't care for him--he must be
horrid.'

Then a new thought struck me. 'I _have_ a home still,' I thought; 'Windy
Gap is ours, I could live there with Kezia and trouble nobody and hardly
cost anything. I won't stay here to be sent to school; I don't think I
am bound to bear it.'

I crept out of my corner.

'Surely my room will be ready by now,' I thought, and walking very
slowly still, for falling asleep in the cold had made me even stiffer,
I made my way upstairs.

Yes, my room was ready, and there was a good fire. There was a little
comfort in that: I sat down on the floor in front of it and began to
think out my plans.

CHAPTER XIII

HARRY

In spite of all that was on my mind I slept soundly, waking the next
morning a little after my usual hour. Very quickly, so much was it
impressed on my brain, I suppose, I recollected the determination with
which I had gone to bed the night before.

I hurried to the window and drew up the blind, for I had made one
condition with myself--I would not attempt to carry out my plan if the
fog was still there! But it had gone. Whether I was glad or sorry I
really can't say. I dressed quickly, thinking or planning all the time.
When I got downstairs to the dining-room it was empty, but on the table
were the traces of some one having breakfasted there.

Just then the footman came in--

'I was to tell you, miss,' he said, 'that Mrs. Wingfield won't be down
to breakfast; it's to be taken upstairs to her.'

'And Mr. Vandeleur has had his, I suppose?' I said.

'Yes, miss,' he replied, clearing the table of some of the plates and
dishes.

I went on with my breakfast, eating as much as I could, for being what
is called an 'old-fashioned' child, I thought to myself it might be some
time before I got a regular meal again. Then I went upstairs, where,
thanks to Belinda's turn-out of the day before, my room was already in
order and the fire lighted. I locked the door and set to work.

About an hour later, having listened till everything seemed quiet about
the house, I made my way cautiously and carefully downstairs, carrying
my own travelling-bag stuffed as full as it would hold and a brown paper
parcel. When I got to the first bedroom floor, where