"Then you'll die; I'll embalm you, and you'll make a lovely young mummy." His little black eyes sparkled as if he rather relished the idea; but it was more than the beautiful Edith could stand, for she burst into tears, and calling her uncle "a barbarous tyrant," was flying out of the room in a rage, when he coolly summoned her back to say, "Edith, take it with you!" By "it" he meant me. She took my hand and obeyed; her beautiful blue eyes flashing resentfully, her bosom still heaving with indignant grief. But Mr. Thornton, heedless of her anger and sorrow, had resumed his magnifying glass, and was again intent on the beetle. When we both stood on the threshold of the door, Edith turned round to confront him, and said vindictively, "I wish there may never be another beetle,--there!" With this she slammed the door, dropped my hand, turned to her left, and went up an old oak staircase, dimly lit by an iron lamp riveted to the wall. She once looked back to see that I followed her, but took no other notice of me. As she reached a wide landing, she met, coming down, a tall and thin old lady in black. "Mrs. Marks," she said briefly, "you are to attend to this child." Without another word or look she continued her ascent. Mrs. Marks looked down at me from the landing, as I stood on the staircase a few steps below her; then up at the light figure of Edith ascending the next flight, and indignantly muttering "that she had never"--the rest did not reach me--she majestically signed me to approach. I obeyed. She eyed me from head to foot, but did not seem much enlightened by the survey. "That is the way up," she said at length, pointing with a long fore-finger to the staircase. The explanation seemed to me a very needless one, but I followed her upstairs silently. We went up until I thought we should never stop, though the ceiling becoming lower with every flight we ascended, indicated that we were approaching the highest regions of the house. I felt tired, but Mrs. Marks went on steadily, as if the tower of Babel would not have daunted her. At length she came to a pause. We had reached a low irregular corridor, that seemed to run round the whole house, and was garnished with numerous doors. Before one of these Mrs. Marks made a dead stop. She unlocked it, held it open by main force, as far as its rusty hinges would allow, then looking round at me, said, emphatically-- "That is the way in." I hesitated, then slid in; Mrs. Marks slid in after me, then let go the door, which of its own accord closed with a snap, locking us in a small, snug room, with thick curtains, closely drawn, a warm carpet on the floor, a bright fire burning in the grate, a kettle singing on the hob, a cat purring on the hearth rug, a chair of inviting depth awaiting its tenant by the fireside, and near it a small table with tray and tea- things. "Sit down," said Mrs. Marks, pointing to a chair.