weariness. Her satchel bore down the feeble hand that carried it,
till it dragged along the stones with a low, rasping sound, as she
climbed the terrace-steps. She lifted the ponderous bronze knocker, and
let it fall from her shaking hand with a crash that startled herself,
and brought a man, all glittering in silver gray and scarlet, to the
door, where he stood, with his insolent lips ajar, waiting to know what
miracle had brought that forlorn creature to the grand entrance of
Houghton Castle.

"I wish to speak with the countess."

That sweet old voice could not counteract the effect of her dress and
worn satchel. The parted lips of the man in scarlet fell together, and
drooped scornfully down at the corners.

"There is a proper entrance for servants and village-people," said this
high functionary, with his powdered head thrown back.

"I know," answered the woman, quietly; "but I wish to see my lady, and
do not care to seek her from the servants' hall. Go to her and say that
Hannah Yates, an old servant of the family, is below, waiting to see
her."

The man hesitated. Then the old woman stepped softly into the hall,
passing him so suddenly that he drew back aghast.

"If you will not go, I must find the way for myself," she said, still in
a voice so gentle that he could take little offence at it.

Her composure rather disturbed the man, who gave his powdered head a
toss, and mounted the broad oaken staircase, with an indignant swell of
the chest. Through a long passage, carpeted with the thickness of forest
turf, he went, giving forth no sound till he opened a door in one of the
lower chambers, and, sweeping a curtain of crimson silk back with his
arm, announced the name that old woman had given him at the door.

Something lying under the rich colors of a great India shawl moved
quickly; the shawl dropped to the floor, and a little old woman sat up
on the couch where she had been resting.

"Yates--Hannah Yates? Did you say Yates, Henry?"

"That was the name, my lady."

"An old woman like me?"

"Old enough, my lady; but Heaven forbid I should say like your ladyship.
I could not force myself to do it."

"Bring her here, Henry."

The door closed, and the old countess drew herself gradually upright.

She was a pale, little woman, with hair as soft and white as the
delicate lace that fell like a spider's web over it. The child-like
hands, which lay in relief among the folds of her black-satin dress,
were