“Never mind—never mind!” exclaimed Gloria, good-naturedly. “To-morrow is a new day, and everything can be arranged then. As for to-night, we are both so tired with our week’s ride that I think we could rest comfortably in any motionless place. I shall remain here with you, and Mr. Lindsay will get our wagoner to show him the way to the overseer’s house, where he proposes to lodge.” “But that is such a pity, to separate you two! Though, indeed, I have got only one bedroom—the one above this—there are two beds in it. I and my niece sleep in one. The other is vacant and at your service, ma’am, if you don’t object to sharing our room with us,” said Mrs. Brent, apologetically. “Not at all! I shall be so glad to lie down anywhere after sitting up for a week,” answered Gloria. “But you would like some supper, sir?” inquired the housekeeper, turning to David Lindsay. “No, I thank you. We had supper at Wolf’s Gap, and we only need rest. Gloria, I will go out and speak to the wagoner, and see if he is ready to guide me to the overseer’s house. I will also get him to help me in with your trunk,” he whispered, as he arose and left the room. Gloria now, for the first time since her arrival, looked at the apartment and its occupant. It was a large, rude place, with a bare, flagstone floor, bare, unplastered stone walls; in front a heavy oaken door, flanked by two large windows, whose very sills were stone; a ceiling with heavy rafters crossing it, and finally, the immense, yawning fireplace, with its iron dogs supporting the great, smouldering hickory logs from whence the light blaze of brushwood had already died away. The furniture was as rude as the room—heavy oaken chairs and tables, a spacious dresser with broad shelves reaching from the floor to ceiling, and furnished with all the crockery ware, cutlery, tin, pewter, and iron utensils of the little _ménage_. In another corner a tall, coffin-like old clock stood, with its foot on the flagstone floor, and its head to the rafters. A rug of home-made rag carpet lay before the fire, and mats of a similar material lay before the front and back doors. That was all. It was a rude, plain room. From the contemplation of the place Gloria turned to the inhabitant. The latter was a tall, thin, dark-skinned woman with small, deep-set black eyes that had a watchful, sidelong, frightened glance, like those of a person who had suffered one overwhelming terror and was continually looking out for another. Her hair was quite white and parted smoothly over her forehead, and confined by a close white linen cap tied under her chin. She wore a long, narrow, black gown, without a scrap of white about her neck or hands. “This is a poor, rude place for you to be in, Mrs. Brent. Surely not to be compared with the comfortable apartments that must have been assigned you in the manor house,” said Gloria, compassionately.