"Did I make a noise, sir? I don't, 'ardly ever, but I s'ppose I wos desp'rate, being so 'ungry, and thinking wot I should do to-morrer for grub. I wosn't long gitting my clothes off, cos I wanted to git to sleep quick and forgit everythink and everybody--everybody but Molly. I'm 'appy when I'm asleep, sir." "Poor child! Do you mean to tell me, Barbara, that all these years you have never once been found out, that all these years you have come and gone from the house without being seen." "Yes, sir, as fur as I know. If I aint clever in nothink else I've been clever in that. Oh, but the way I've had to dodge, and the tricks I've played! They'd fill a book if they wos took down. Allus coming 'ome late at night, looking about me, and turning another way if anybody wos near; allus very careful when I went out agin, peeping round corners, and 'iding quick if I 'eerd a step. Eyes, sir! I can see a mile off. Ears, sir! I could 'ear a blade o' grass whisper." "You have had a hard life, my dear," I said, taking her hand. Despite her ragged clothes she looked more comfortable now. There was no wolf tearing at her vitals for food. This, and the warmth of the fire, the excitement of the conversation, the consciousness that we were her friends, and the novelty of such an association in a house in which she had not heard the voice of a human being during all the years she had slept and starved in it, had caused her cheeks to glow and her eyes to sparkle. "Yes, sir, there's no denying it's 'ard, but it'll be all right when I see Molly agin." "You expected to do so long before now?" "Oh, yes, sir, ever so long before. She can't 'ave forgot me, she can't 'ave forgot me! You don't think that, do yer, sir?" "I am sure she has not, my dear. She was always a good sister to you, from what you have told me, and always a good girl." "The best in all the wide world, sir. There's nobody like 'er, I don't care where you look. 'I'm more than yer sister Molly,' she sed, 'I'm yer mother, and I'll never, never turn from yer as long as I live.'" "Tell me, Barbara. What was your sister?" "A servant gal, sir. I'd like to be one." "Was she in a situation in London?" "In course she wos, sir." "Where?" "In this 'ouse, sir. That's why I'm 'ere now." And that, thought I, looking down at the cat, is why _I_ am here now. I glanced at Bob; the revelation that poor Barbara's sister was in domestic service with the last tenant had brought a flush of expectation into his face. CHAPTER XVIII. MOLLY. I continued the conversation. "That must be a long time ago, Barbara?" "Oh, yes, sir; ever so long ago." "What was the name of her master?" "I don't remember, sir." "If you heard it, would you remember it?" "Yes, sir." "Was it Mr. Nesbit?" "That's the name, sir. 'E 'ad a daughter, sech a nice young lady, Molly told me." "Miss Beatrice Nesbit?"