my only beauty--a high, massive, domelike forehead, with polished
temples, like door-knobs of the purest porcelain.

Our family was a family of governesses. My mother had been one,
and my sisters had the same occupation. Consequently, when, at the
age of thirteen, my eldest sister handed me the advertisement of
Mr. Rawjester, clipped from that day's "Times," I accepted it as my
destiny. Nevertheless, a mysterious presentiment of an indefinite
future haunted me in my dreams that night, as I lay upon my little
snow-white bed. The next morning, with two bandboxes tied up in
silk handkerchiefs, and a hair trunk, I turned my back upon Minerva
Cottage forever.


CHAPTER II.

Blunderbore Hall, the seat of James Rawjester, Esq., was
encompassed by dark pines and funereal hemlocks on all sides. The
wind sang weirdly in the turrets and moaned through the long-drawn
avenues of the park. As I approached the house I saw several
mysterious figures flit before the windows, and a yell of demoniac
laughter answered my summons at the bell. While I strove to
repress my gloomy forebodings, the housekeeper, a timid, scared-
looking old woman, showed me into the library.

I entered, overcome with conflicting emotions. I was dressed in a
narrow gown of dark serge, trimmed with black bugles. A thick
green shawl was pinned across my breast. My hands were encased
with black half-mittens worked with steel beads; on my feet were
large pattens, originally the property of my deceased grandmother.