at the slightest sound, she fell
into a doze, and thence into a tolerably sound slumber, which lasted
until daylight looked in at the unshuttered window, and the baize door
moved upon its hinges to admit the girl who was to act as Miss Heron's
maid.

The very sight of a girl--a woman like herself--brought hope to Kitty's
mind. She started up, pressing her hands to her brow and pushing back
the disordered hair. Then she addressed the girl with eager, persuasive
words. But the kitchen-maid only shook her head. "Dinna ye ken that I'm
stane-deef?" she said, pointing to her ears with a grin. For a moment
Kitty in despair desisted from her efforts. Then she thought of another
argument. She produced her purse, and showed the girl some sovereigns,
then led her to the door, intimating by signs that she would give her
the money if she would but open it. The girl seemed to understand, but
laughed again and shook her head. "Na, na," she said. "I daurna lat ye
oot sae lang's the maister's here." Hugo's coadjutors were apparently
incorruptible.

The kitchen-maid proved herself equal to all the work required of her.
She relighted the fire, cleared away the uneaten supper, and brought
breakfast and hot water. Kitty discovered that everything she required
was handed to the girl through a sliding panel in the door at the bottom
of the stairs. There was no chance of escape through any chance opening
of the door.

She had no appetite, but she knew that she ought to eat in order to keep
up her strength and courage. She therefore drank some coffee, and ate
the scones which the maid brought her. The girl then took away the
breakfast-things, put fresh fuel on the fire, and departed by the lower
door. Kitty would have kept her if she could. Even a deaf kitchen-maid
was better than no company at all.

The view from the windows was no more encouraging by day than night.
There seemed to be no way of communicating with the outer world. A
letter flung from either storey would only reach the slanting roofs
below, and lie on the slates until destroyed by snow and rain. Kitty
doubted whether her voice would reach the courtyard, even if she raised
it to its highest pitch. She tried it from the attic window, but it
seemed to die away in the heights, and she could hardly hope that it had
been heard by anyone either inside or outside the house.

She was left alone for some time. About noon, as she was standing by her
window, straining her eyes to dis