'O dear, no,' she answered; 'he lives nearly a hundred miles away,
in a very wild part of Yorkshire, not far from the sea. But
Thornleigh--that is the name for our house--is a dear old place, and I
like our bleak wild country better than the loveliest spot in the
world. I was born there, you see, and all my happy memories of my
childhood and my mother are associated with that dear old home.'

'Is it long since you lost your mother?'

'Ten years. I loved her so dearly. There are some subjects about
which one dare not speak. I cannot often trust myself to talk of
her.'

I liked her better after this. At first her beauty and her handsome
dress had seemed a little overpowering to me; I had felt as if she
were a being of another order, a bright happy creature not subject
to the common woes of life. But now that she had spoken of her own
sorrows, I felt that we were upon a level; and I stole my hand
timidly into hers, and murmured some apology for my previous
rudeness.

'You were not rude, dear. I know I must have seemed very intrusive
when I disturbed you; but I could not bear to hear you crying like
that. And now tell me where you sleep.'

I described the room as well as I could.

'I know where you mean,' she said; 'it's close to my room. I have
the privilege of a little room to myself, you know; and on half-
holidays I have a fire there, and write my letters, or paint; and