There were grey-looking curtains hanging at the three tall windows. There were green Venetian blinds, which looked almost white now, so covered were they with dust. There was a sort of rough drugget stuff on the floor, which was quite as grey as the curtains which surrounded the windows. There was a huge four-poster bed, drawn out a little from the wall, and taking one of the best positions in the room. This also was hung with grey moreen, and looked as desolate and as uninviting as a couch could look. There was a huge arm-chair, covered also with the same grey moreen; and there were a few other chairs, hard and dirty. There was a very tall brass fender to the grate, which in itself was large and of generous proportions. There was a chest of drawers, made of mahogany, with brass handles; and a huge wardrobe, almost as big as a small house. I really don't remember the rest of the furniture of the room, except that there were engravings hanging on the walls, and one in particular portraying Herodias bearing the head of John the Baptist on a charger, hanging exactly over the fireplace. The picture was as ghastly as the room. "I wouldn't sleep here for the world," I said. "Well, you won't have the chance," said Hannah. "Now, you can just go out and make yourself useful somewhere else, while I'm beginning to clean up and get things in order." PART ONE, CHAPTER FOURTEEN. THE PROFESSOR'S RETURN. When Sunday morning dawned the place was, according to Hannah's ideas, in perfect order. She had not got in any one to help her, and I am afraid she must have been nearly dropping with fatigue. She allowed me to dust a little, but would not permit me to do any harder work. "No, no," she said--"no, no; you're the young lady, and I'm a poor drudge. It's right that the drudge should work, and not the young lady." I proceeded to try to remind her that she had not considered my young ladyhood much in the past. "Things is different now," said Hannah. "I have got to look after you now." "But why so?" I asked. "I had a dream in the night," she said. "Your poor mother come to me, and she said, `Don't leave my children, Hannah.' Oh dear! oh dear! she as was killed--as was killed!" To my amazement, Hannah burst out crying. When she cried I rushed to her and flung my arms round her neck and cried also. "Oh, I am so glad you won't leave us!" I said. I felt like a most terrible little martyr, and Hannah's sympathy soothed me inexpressibly. That evening--it was Saturday--I told Alex and Charley and Von Marlo about Hannah's dream. "Rot, I call it!" said Charley. "Oh Charley, you are very unkind!" "Well, I'm sure," said Charley, "why should she have been so cross and disobliging when we really wanted somebody--when we had no sort of mother? Now that we're going to have that jolly, fat, round woman to look after us and to see to our comforts, Hannah is beginning to find out what her duties are."