mind.

'What's the matter?' she said, addressing the girl.

'I'm cold and hungry and miserable!' she said with a sob; 'and I saw your
light, and I thought you would let me in.'

Rosalie hesitated no longer. She unbolted the door, and the dark figure on
the steps came in. She threw off a long cloak with which she was covered;
and Rosalie could see that she was quite a young girl, about seventeen
years old, and that she had been crying until her eyes were swollen and
red. She was as cold as ice; there seemed to be no feeling in her hands,
and her teeth chattered as she sat down on the bench by the side of the
stove.

Rosalie put some cold tea into a little pan and made it hot. And when the
girl had drunk this, she seemed better, and more inclined to talk.

'Is that your mother?' she said, glancing at the bed where Rosalie's mother
was still sleeping peacefully.

'Yes,' said Rosalie in a whisper; 'we mustn't wake her, she is very, very
ill. That's why we didn't start with the rest of the company; and the
doctor has given her some medicine to make her sleep whilst we're
travelling.'

'I have a mother,' said the girl.

'Have you?' said Rosalie; 'where is she?'