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of these old piles stand like rocks, defying our lives as they have defied the generations before us. We come upon them everywhere, set upon high hills, standing in wide country-places, crowded into the narrow streets of a city. Perhaps it is the golden Tiber that flows past the old doorways, p

d hear the noise of the horses trampling and the sabots clanking in the courtyard down below. Lady Sarah had sent her little niece to bed, and she now stood at the door and said, 'Good-night, my dears.' The second nightcap was only that of a little stray school-

d start in January, for which month her passage was taken. She implored Lady Sarah to meet her in Paris, where some weeks' rest would be absolutely necessary, she said, to recruit her strength after the fatigue of her journey; and Lady Sarah, with some misgiving, yielded to Dolly's wistful entreaties, and wrote to her old friend the Rev. W. Lovejoy, of the Marmouton Chapel, to take rooms f

said, very sensibly, that, if she was to be a governess, she supposed she had better learn things. So Rhoda was sent off for a y

every morning came Madame de St. Honoré, an old lady who instructed Mademoiselle Dolli in the grammar and literature of the country to which she belonged. French literature, according to Madame de St. Honoré, was in one snuffy volume which she happened to possess. Dolly asked no questions, and greatl

f rooms, the chairs and tables of which had seen better days, and had bee

ff-backed chairs. It was early times for two girls of eleven and twelve to be popped away out of the world; but Lady Sarah was at that time a stric

om; or, when the night-light burnt dimly, and the darkness lay heaped against the walls, Dolly, still childish for her age, could paint pictures for herself upon it, bright phantasmagorias woven out of her brain, faces and flowers and glittering sights such as those she saw when she was out in the daytime. Dolly thought the room wa

said Henriette, 'and is

r; 'and a sweet pretty lady. I can't think w

e feels her death very much. He i

te! I should like to give

g gentleman, that Mr. Rab-Rap-Wh

the world. 'There was a young man in a grocer's shop--'

ey found she had grown since her death, poor thing. Julie tells me that she looks more beautiful than

ill her again, the wretch!' said Mar

such beautiful gowns! There was a moire-antique came home the day she died, with lace trimmings. Julie showed it me:

ild!' sa

ings. I would not mind his being out of temper now and then, and leaving me to do as I liked for a month or two at a time. I should h

rself,' growled Marker, 'with th

-that is another thing. She says she would not stop in the room for worlds. She thought she saw he

l nobody-could i

ent as before. I am glad I sleep upstairs: I should not like to be in

she was alive, poor thing,' said Marker

young man like that! He liked her well enough, allez! She c

went away for days together without telling her where he was going. I know where he was: he was gambling and spending her money on other peo

me, isn't it?'

; Dolly was kicking about in her own bed, and thrilling with terror and excitement, and thinking of what she had heard of the poor pretty lady downstairs. She and Rhoda always used to rush to the window to see her drive off in her smart little carriage, wrapped in her furs, but all alone. Poor little lady! her unkind husband never went with

smile, and say, "Adieu! dear aunt, you never understood me-you fancied me a child when I had the feelings of a woman, and you sneered at me, and sent me to bed at eight o'clock. Do not crush George and Rhoda as you have crushed me: be gentle with them;" and then I shall cross my hands over my chest and-and what then?' And a sort of shock came over the girl as, perhaps for the first time in her life, she realised the awful awakening. 'Suppose they bury me alive? It is very common, I know-oh! no, no, no; that would be too horr

start, and thought it must be morning. Had not somebody called her by name? did not somebody whisper Dolly in her ear? so loud that it woke her out of a strange dream: a sort of dream in wh

dining-room, out into the ante-room, all dark and black, opening the front door (the key was merely turned in the lock), walking downstairs with the dim lamps glimmering and the moonlight pouring in at the blindless window; and standing at the door of the apartment below. Her only thought was wonder at finding it so easy. Then she laid her hand softly on the lock and turned it, and the door opened, and she found herself in an ante-room like their own, only carpeted and alight. The room was under her own: she knew her way well enough. Into the dark dining-room she passed with a beating heart, and so came to a door beneath which a ray of light was streaming. And then she stopped. Was this a dream? was this really herself? or was she asleep in bed upstairs? or was she, perhaps, dead in her coffin? A qualm of terror came over her-should she turn and go?-her knees were sha

ng, she must have been walking in her sleep'-a strange new birth, new vitality pouring in at all her limbs, a dull identity coming flashing suddenly into life, and Dolly opened her eyes to find herself in the nurse's arms, wi

ave you saved me?' w

hild?' said Lady Sarah, in her brisk tones. 'M

nd there was no one there-and Julie trying on the dresses, and the wicked husband-I heard Henriette telli

the young lady is at rest where nothing wi

uns must have frightened her.' And he raised the child's,

hance of the children being awake to hear me. It was downright wicked, and I should l

iette will get Miss Dolly a cup of

Marker's arm and hide her face away from them all. Her aunt kissed her once more, saying, 'Well, I won't scold you to-night; indeed, I am not sure but that you were quite right to go,' and disappeared int