me from above, where was an upper chamber, and a loft little used.

My heart beat quickly, so that I was afraid to go out into the passage,
for there I must meet that which descended, man or spirit as it might
be. I heard the foot on the lowest stair, and then it turned towards the
little closet where my mistress often sat alone at her devotions.

While it lingered there I wondered whether I should rush out into the
street, and seek the help and company of some neighbour. But I
remembered Mrs. Gaunt's injunction; and, moreover, another thought
restrained me. It was that of the man that I had let into the house and
never seen again. It might well be that he had never left the place, and
that I should be betraying a secret by calling in a stranger to look at
him.

So I stood trembling by the deal table until the step sounded again and
came on to the kitchen.

[Sidenote: The Man Again]

The door opened, and a man stood there. It was the same whom I had seen
before.

He looked round quickly, and gave me a courteous greeting; his manner
was, indeed, pleasant enough, and there was nothing in his look to set a
maid trembling at the sight of him.

"I am in luck," he said, "for I heard Mrs. Gaunt go out some time since,
and I am sick of that upper chamber where she keeps me shut up."

"If she keeps you shut up, sir," I said, his manner giving me back all
my self-possession, "sure she has some very good reason."

"Do you know her reason?" he asked with abruptness.

"No, nor seek to know it, unless she chooses to tell me. I did not even
guess that she had you in hiding."

"Mrs. Gaunt is careful, but I can trust the lips that now reprove me.
They were made for better things than betraying a friend. I would
willingly have some good advice from them, seeing that they speak wise
words so readily." And so saying he sat down on the settle, and looked
at me smiling.

I was offended, and with reason, at the freedom of his speech; yet, his
manner, was so much beyond anything I had been accustomed to for ease
and pleasantness, that I soon forgave him, and when he encouraged me,
began to prattle about my affairs, being only, with all my conceit, the
silly lassie my mistress had called me.

I talked of my home and my own kindred, and the friends I had had--which
things had now all the charm of remoteness for me--and he listened with
interest, catching up the names of places, and even of persons, as if
they were not altogether