She made no stop whatever, delivering the little one to the inmates of Blackheath Hall and departing immediately, without even partaking of the refreshments which they would have pressed upon her. They could understand but one thing; she called the little one Jess--just that and nothing more. When they asked her for the little one’s other name, she maintained by motions that she could not comprehend their question. Perhaps this was true, or it might have been feigned; at any rate, she made all haste from the place, seemingly heartily glad to be rid of her charge. In Mrs. Bryson’s opinion, the woman was a French maid--and the child bore such a striking resemblance to her that almost every member of the household remarked it. Little Jess seemed to take kindly enough to her surroundings. She grew and thrived like a weed, springing up much after the fashion of that uncultivated plant. She was allowed to roam about as she would--bare of foot and hatless--the great mane of curling hair with which nature had provided her being her only head-covering--lithe and graceful as a young fawn in her brown linsey gown, which barely reached the slender, brown ankles. Jess was a child of nature--she would have known little enough of books, and cared still less, had not the servants taken pity on her and taught her to read and write, which was quite as much as they knew themselves. The master of Blackheath Hall never wrote again to ask about the little waif. Except for the brief mention he had made that she was to find shelter beneath his roof, he seemed to forget her entirely. Therefore the shock of the lawyer’s coming, with the sad notice of Mr. George Dinsmore’s death, and the will--which was very much stranger still--giving his nephew his entire fortune if he took with it Little Jess--cutting him off entirely if he failed to do so, and cutting the girl off, as well, if she failed to secure his nephew, John Dinsmore, for her husband--was the most mystifying surprise they had ever had. “It is useless to hope that a fastidious gentleman who has traveled half over the world--as has Mr. John Dinsmore--would take to a wild, half-tamed creature like Jess,” Mrs. Bryson said, despairingly, and her heart misgave her that she had not troubled herself to look after the girl better during the years which had come and gone so swiftly. If her late master’s plans miscarried, she felt in a vague way that the fault would lie at her door for not looking after the girl better, and making her more of a lady, instead of a lovely little hoydenish savage who would have her own way and knew no will save her own. For days at a time Jess had been in the habit of wandering about where fancy willed, and no one took the pains to inquire into her coming or going--whether she was in the house or out of it; if she fell asleep from fatigue amid the long grass under the trees when night overtook her, or if she were in her own little room in the servants’ quarters under the eaves.