"An' ye don't know it yet. You've no call to know my name. I'll ha' nothing to do wi' the likes o' you as goes about takin' poor folks's childer from 'em. There's my poor Glory's been an' took atwixt you an' grannie, and shet up in a formatory as you calls it; an' I should like to know what right you've got to go about that way arter poor girls as has mothers to help." "I assure you I had nothing to do with it," said my father. "I'm a country clergyman myself, and have no duty in London." "Well, that's where they've took her--down in the country. I make no doubt but you've had your finger in that pie. You don't come here to call upon us for the pleasure o' makin' our acquaintance--ha! ha! ha!--You're allus arter somethin' troublesome. I'd adwise you, sir and miss, to let well alone. Sleepin' dogs won't bite; but you'd better let 'em lie--and that I tell you." "Believe me," said my father quite quietly, "I haven't the least knowledge of your daughter. The country's a bigger place than you seem to think,--far bigger than London itself. All I wanted to trouble you about was to tell us whether Miss Clare was at home or not." "I don't know no one o' that name. If it's grannie you mean, she's at home, I know--though it's not much reason I've got to care whether she's at home or not." "It's a young--woman, I mean," said my father. "'Tain't a young lady, then?--Well, I don't care what you call her. I dare say it'll be all one, come judgment. You'd better go up till you can't go no further, an' knocks yer head agin the tiles, and then you may feel about for a door, and knock at that, and see if the party as opens it is the party you wants." So saying, she turned in at a door behind her, and shut it. But we could hear her still growling and grumbling. "It's very odd," said my father, with a bewildered smile. "I think we'd better do as she says, and go up till we knock our heads against the tiles." We climbed two stairs more,--the last very steep, and so dark that when we reached the top we found it necessary to follow the woman's directions literally, and feel about for a door. But we had not to feel long or far, for there was one close to the top of the stair. My father knocked. There was no reply; but we heard the sound of a chair, and presently some one opened it. The only light being behind her, I could not see her face, but the size and shape were those of Miss Clare. She did not leave us in doubt, however; for, without a moment's hesitation, she held out her hand to me, saying, "This _is_ kind of you, Mrs. Percivale;" then to my father, saying, "I'm very glad to see you, Mr. Walton. Will you walk in?"