The girl's eyes showed a look of flame. Then her head seemed to swim. She put her hand to her brow, and walked weakly across the kitchen to the door of the stairs. "Mother!" cried Polly, in indignation; and she sprang after Laura. But Laura waved her back imperiously, and almost immediately they heard her door shut upstairs. * * * * * An hour later Laura was lying sleepless in her bed. It was a clear cold night--a spring frost after the rain. The moon shone through the white blind, on the old four-poster, on Laura's golden hair spread on the pillow, on the great meal-ark which barred the chimney, on the rude walls and woodwork of the room. Her arms were thrown behind her head, supporting it. Nothing moved in the house, or the room--the only sound was the rustling of a mouse in one corner. A door opened on a sudden. There was a step in the passage, and someone knocked at her door. "Come in." On the threshold stood Mrs. Mason in a cotton bedgown and petticoat, her grey locks in confusion about her massive face and piercing eyes. She closed the door, and came to the bedside. "Laura!--Aa've coom to ast thy pardon!" Laura raised herself on one arm, and looked at the apparition with amazement. "Mebbe A've doon wrang.--We shouldna quench the smoakin flax. Soa theer's my han, child--if thoo can teäk it." The old woman held out her hand. There was an indescribable sound in her voice, as of deep waters welling up. Laura fell back on her pillows--the whitest, fragilest creature--under the shadows of the old bed. She opened her delicate arms. "Suppose you kiss me, Cousin Elizabeth!" The elder woman stooped clumsily. The girl linked her arms round her neck and kissed her warmly, repeatedly, feeling through all her motherless sense the satisfaction of a long hunger in the contact of the old face and ample bosom. The reserve of both forbade anything more. Mrs. Mason tucked in the small figure--lingered a little--said, "Laura, th'art not coald--nor sick?"--and when Laura answered cheerfully, the mistress went. The girl's eyes were wet for a while; her heart beat fast. There had been few affections in her short life--far too few. Her nature gave itself with a fatal prodigality, or not at all. And now--what was there left to give? But she slept more peacefully for Mrs. Mason's visit--with Augustina's letter of summons under her hand. * * * * * The day was still young when Laura reached Bannisdale. Never had the house looked so desolate. Dust lay on the oaken boards and tables of the hall. There was no fire on the great hearth, and the blinds in the oriel windows were still mostly drawn. But the remains of yesterday's fire were visible yet, and a dirty duster and pan adorned the Squire's chair.