Winifred tripped along the terrace and across the paved court, stopping for a moment to caress the old blood-hound, who knocked his tail against the flagstones at her approach, too lazy for any more active greeting; and entered the little ground-floor parlor which was Mrs. Alwright's peculiar sanctuary. Mrs. Alwright received her little friend with her usual dignified kindness. She was a tall, thin, rather severe-looking person, very neat and prim in her dress, and more stately in her manners than my lady herself. You must not think she was at all like an ordinary waiting-woman of these days, though she dressed her lady's hair and took care of her clothes. She was of a good family and respectfully educated for those times, and her brother was vicar of the parish of Holford. Such persons in those days thought it no disgrace to take service with ladies of higher rank, and were often treated with a great deal of consideration. Mrs. Alwright was older than her lady, and had been brought up by her mother, the old Lady Carew, who was a famous manager and housekeeper. She understood all sorts of work, plain and ornamental, and every kind of household duty, from pickling beef and pork to making the most delicate confectionery. She had taken a great fancy to Winifred from the first of their acquaintance, and she intended that the child should be thoroughly taught everything she herself knew. Winifred usually enjoyed very much the hours she passed by Mrs. Alwright's side in the housekeeper's room, working at her embroidery or her knitting, as the case might be. She knew that the privilege was a very great one, such as few girls in her station enjoyed. And she was anxious to make the most of her time, lest something should happen to interrupt these precious hours. Moreover, she was very fond of good Mrs. Alwright, and loved to please her; and she usually gained great commendation for her industry and attention. To-day, however, she was so absent-minded and set so many stitches awry in the fine cut-work band she was making, that Mrs. Alwright thought it necessary to give her a little lecture on her carelessness. "But I am sure you are not well!" was the sudden conclusion of her discourse. "You are as white as a lily, and have dark marks under your eyes. You shall lay aside your work for the present, and have a glass of my rose cordial or a dose of my lady's sovereign balm, and a piece of gingerbread or saffron cake, and when you have rested, you shall read to me out of Hall's 'Chronicle.' I have kept the mark in the book where you left off last time."