little garden in the tower, down the stair-case, the door of which lay on the left-hand side, and lock the door below. I did not like to go in by the great gates of the town, both because the distance was greater, and because I thought some questions might be asked about Mariette; and I resolved, at all events, to attempt our private entrance before I yielded to necessity. I encouraged my little companion to hurry her steps, by pointing out the town rising before us, and telling her that if she made haste, she would in a few minutes be with Father Bonneville, and he would be so good and kind to her she could not think. I told her, also, of good Jeanette, and what a nice creature she was, and I succeeded in engaging her attention and leading her on much faster than before. We soon reached the foot of the hill, climbed the steep little path which led to the door at the foot of the tower, and with great joy and some surprise I found it open. “Now come in, Mariette,” I said, “and don’t be afraid of the dark; for this stair-case leads to our garden, and the garden to the house.” She said she was not at all afraid of the dark; that her papa often made her walk with him in the dark; and she followed me quite readily, holding tight by my hand, however. In the garden above we found good old Jeanette, with her snow-white cap, and her mittens. I found that she had become anxious at my long absence, and had abstained from locking the door lest I should determine to come in that way. Her surprise to see my little companion, and the state of grotesque agitation and bustle into which the sight threw her, I shall never forget. My explanations soon banished surprise by other emotions. I told all I knew of poor Mariette’s story as simply as I could, and the good creature’s heart was instantly touched; the tears gathered in her eyes, and taking the poor little girl in her arms, she said, “Come with me, my child—come with me. Here we will make you a home where you will be as happy as the day is long.”