"What? Rose herself! I did not think you would have come on such a
night as this. Can you come up? Shall I help you?"

"Thank you. Take the lantern first--take care. There. Now the
basket and the cloak." And this done, with Edmund's hand, Rose
scrambled up into the loft. It was only the height of the roof, and
there was not room, even in the middle, to stand upright; the rain
soaked through the old thatch, the floor was of rough boards, and
there was but very little of the hay that had served as a bed for the
kittens.

"O Edmund, this is a wretched place!" exclaimed Rose, as, crouching
by his side, one hand in his, and the other round his neck, she gazed
around.

"Better than a prison," he answered. "I only wish I knew that others
were in as good a one. And you--why, Rose, how you are altered; you
are my young lady now! And how does my dear mother?"

"Pretty well. I could hardly prevail on her not to come here to-
night; but it would have been too much, she is so weak, and takes
cold so soon. But, Edmund, how pale you are, how weary! Have you
slept? I fear not, on these hard boards--your wound, too."

"It hardly deserves such a dignified name as a wound," said Edmund.
"I am more hungry than aught else; I could have slept but for hunger,
and now"--as he spoke he was opening the basket--"I shall be lodged
better, I fear, than a king, with that famous cloak. What a notable
piece of pasty! Well done, Rose! Are you housewife? Store of