By this time the day was quite warm, and soon I began to feel the perspiration ooze from my forehead, so seeing a stream of clear water running by the roadside I stooped down and washed myself. It helped and refreshed me much, and enabled me to think more calmly. Then I remembered that many a long hour had passed since I had tasted food. I felt hungry and faint, but I walked on, for there seemed small hope of obtaining food for some time. Happening, however, to pass near a farmhouse I heard some one singing. It was a milkmaid sitting among her cows, singing as she worked, and her song was the expression of a light heart free from guilt. Jumping over a stile I made my way towards her, and seeing me coming she stood up and curtsied. "Can you sell me some milk, Mary?" I said. "No sur, I can't sell any, and my name edn't Mary but Em'ly, but I can give 'ee zum." With that she ran to the house, and soon appeared with a quart jug, which she dipped into the bucket and filled, then handed it to me. I drank it greedily, and I did not take my lips from the jug until I had nearly emptied it. To me it was both meat and drink, and it gave me new life. I offered the girl money, but she refused it indignantly. "As thoa," she said, "anybody cud taake money vur a drap a milk." I had no difficulty in accomplishing the remaining distance after this, and soon after I came to the park gates of Morton Hall. Then the real difficulty of my position was revealed to me. What should I do now I had travelled these thirty-five long miles? what object could I have in visiting the house? what should I say if any one asked me my business? Although I could not settle this in my mind, I opened the gate and strode up the long drive. It was a fine house, and had been kept in good repair. Great trees bordered the way, but hid not the colossal pile that was plainly to be seen at the end of the widening avenue. Without waiting a second, or being able to give a reason for what I was doing, I went to the main entrance and rang the heavy bell. An old, grey-headed servant appeared, looking exceedingly solemn, and asked my business. "I want to see the owner of this place," I said, speaking on the impulse of the moment. "There is no owner," was the reply. "How is that?" I asked, abruptly. He looked at me keenly for a minute, as though to sum up my social position and qualities before answering. Evidently he was an old and trusted servant. "It is not a matter for strangers," he said, "but if you have any business I will convey it to the person who is at present in charge." "My business is of importance," I said, speaking from secret impulse, and not knowing what I should have to say next. "I can only entrust it to the owner." "But the owner is dead," he replied, "and who the new owner will be is not known yet. There are many claiming to be next-of-kin, and Mr. Inch and the lawyers are busy at work." "Mr. Inch is the steward, I suppose?"