I obeyed. She went to the fireplace, and planting herself on the rug, with her hands gathering her skirts in front, and her back to the fire, she thence surveyed me with an attentive stare. Passed from Miss Murray to Cornelius,--from him to Mr. Thornton,--from Mr. Thornton to his niece,--and from her to Mrs. Marks, I felt more apathetic than ever; but Mrs. Marks stood exactly opposite me; I could not help seeing her. She was a gaunt, tall woman, with a pale face and fixed eyes, that made her look like her own portrait. They were eclipsed by a pair of bright black pins, which projected from her cap on either side, and held some mysterious connection with her front. She wore a robe of rusty black, that fitted tight to the figure, and was not over-ample in the skirt. After a long contemplation, she uttered a solemn "I shall see," then left the room. The door snapped after her; I remained alone with the cat, which, like every creature in that house, seemed to care nothing for me, but went on purring with half-shut eyes. Its mistress soon returned, settled herself in her arm-chair, and thence seemed inclined to survey me again; but the contemplation was disturbed by a tap at the door. "Come in, Mrs. Digby; don't be afraid of the door," encouragingly said Mrs. Marks. Mrs. Digby was probably nervous, for she made several feeble attempts to introduce her person,--as suddenly darting back again,--before she gathered sufficient courage to accomplish the delicate operation. "Gracious! I never saw such a door!" she then observed; "I wonder you can keep such a creature, Mrs. Marks." "It has its good points," philosophically replied Mrs. Marks; "it is safer than a lock, and, like a dog, won't bite unless you are afraid of it. But if you dally with it, Mrs. Digby, why it may give you a snap!" "Gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Digby, looking horrified; "how can you live up here, Mrs. Marks?" "The rooms below are gloomy, and have no prospect; whereas here I sit by the window, look over the whole grounds, and, if I see anything wrong, I just touch this string,--then a bell rings,--and Richard at the lodge is warned." "Well," dismally observed Mrs. Digby, "I dare say that is very pleasant; but I have enough of old castles, Mrs. Marks." "This is not a castle." "They read like such dear horrid old places, that I was quite delighted when Miss Grainger said to me the other day, 'Digby, we are going to uncle Thornton's!' I did not know they smelt more mouldy than any cheese, and that there was no sleeping with the rats." "Yes, the little things will trot about, spite of the cat; but then one must live and let live, Mrs. Digby." "Don't say one must let rats live, Mrs. Marks, don't! they are almost as bad as Mr. Thornton's horrid things,--only they are stuffed."