She entered one of the rooms—a great place with panelled pillars in the centre, and a vague vision of crystal and green leaves at the farther end—and sate down in one of the chairs near the blazing fire. It was not a moment of triumph—it was a moment of profound, unutterable sadness. The greatness of the place, the strange faces around her, increased the weight of loneliness she felt. And then all the reminiscences of her mother’s life were present to her, and she seemed to have established a new and strange link between herself and her. It seemed as if the great chasm of time and circumstance had been bridged over, and that in discovering her mother’s house, and the old associations of these bygone years, she should have discovered her also, and met the kindly face she once knew. If Annie Napier had walked into the room just then, and laid her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, I do not think the girl would have been surprised. "Was my mother ever in this house?" she asked of Mr. Cayley, not noticing that he was still standing with his hat in his hand. "Doubtless. She was married in that little church we passed." "And instead of spending her life here in comfort and quiet, he let her go away to America, and work hard and bitterly for herself and me." Mr. Cayley said nothing. "Do you know anything of her life here? How long she stayed? What were her favourite rooms? Where she used to sit?" "No, your ladyship; I only presume Lady Knottingley must have lived here for a little while before going to Switzerland. My father might be able to tell me." "I am very anxious to see him,—he is the only person I am anxious to see. He knew my mother; perhaps he can tell me something about her life here and in Switzerland. She _may_ have left some things in the house—a book or a picture—that he might tell me was hers; don’t you think so?" Mr. Cayley, against his knowledge, was forced to admit that it _was_ possible, for he saw there were tears in the girl’s eyes. "Would you care to go through the house now?" he suggested. "Mrs. Tillotson will go with you, and see what arrangements or alterations you want made. And about your future residence here——" "I cannot stay here," she said; "the place is too big and too lonely. I could not bear to live alone in this great place." "Your ladyship need not want for society. Both of the trustees, Lord Sefton and——" "I will not see one of them!" she said, with flashing eyes. "I consented to see them, when you said it was necessary—but to meet them as friends! They knew my mother; they must have seen her and known her; and they never tried to help her. They were men; and they let a woman be treated like that!" The bitter scorn of the words sounded so strangely as it came from the gentle face; but there was an indignant flush in her cheeks, and indignation in her eyes.