Before we reached the house, we had left the heath, and were moving along
lanes. The horse seemed to walk with more confidence, and it was harder
for me to keep up with him. I was so tired that I could not feel my legs.
I stumbled often, and once the horse trod on my foot. I fell; he went on;
I had to run limping after him. At last we stopped. I could see nothing.
The lady gave a musical cry. A voice and footsteps made answer; and
presently came the sound of a gate on its hinges. A long dark piece of
road followed. I knew we were among trees, for I heard the wind in them
over our heads. Then I saw lights in windows, and presently we stopped at
the door of a great house. I remember nothing more of that night.




CHAPTER VII.


THE MIRROR.

I woke the next morning in a strange bed, and for a long time could not
think how I came to be there. A maid appeared, and told me it was time to
get up. Greatly to my dislike, she would insist on dressing me. My
clothes looked very miserable, I remember, in consequence of what they
had gone through the night before. She was kind to me, and asked me a
great many questions, but paid no heed to my answers--a treatment to
which I had not been used: I think she must have been the lady's maid.
When I was ready, she took me to the housekeeper's room, where I had
bread and milk for breakfast. Several servants, men and women, came and
went, and I thought they all looked at me strangely. I concluded they had