her. She was dressed in black silk, with a white neckerchief crossing
in front, and black mittens on her hands. After gazing at me fixedly
for a moment or two, she turned away and ascended the stair, which went
up straight from the door, saying--

'Come with me, Master Cumbermede. You must have some tea before you
go.'

I obeyed, and followed her into a long, low-ceiled room, wainscotted
all over in panels, with a square moulding at the top, which served for
a cornice. The ceiling was ornamented with plaster reliefs. The windows
looked out, on one side into the court, on the other upon the park. The
floor was black and polished like a mirror, with bits of carpet here
and there, and a rug before the curious, old-fashioned grate, where a
little fire was burning and a small kettle boiling fiercely on the top
of it. The tea-tray was already on the table. She got another cup and
saucer, added a pot of jam to the preparations, and said:

'Sit down and have some bread and butter, while I make the tea.'

She cut me a great piece of bread, and then a great piece of butter,
and I lost no time in discovering that the quality was worthy of the
quantity. Mrs Wilson kept a grave silence for a good while. At last, as
she was pouring out the second cup, she looked at me over the teapot,
and said--

'You don't remember your mother, I suppose, Master Cumbermede?'

'No, ma'am. I never saw my mother.'