Mrs. West grew downright sorry for her pretty prisoner, whose pink cheeks were fading in the close, dark rooms where she was kept. She said to herself that this would not do. She must not have poor Dick's orphan child pining for liberty and light and the blessed sunshine that was free to all. "I will not do it; no, not if I have to leave Lady Lancaster's service and make a home for the girl elsewhere," she said to herself. So one day she came into the little room where Leonora, sitting at the window, gazed wistfully out at the green grass and the blue sky, with an unconscious pathos on the sweet, girlish face. "My dear, you are tired of this stuffy little chamber, I know," she said. "Not very," said the girl, a little drearily. "I suppose I ought to be grateful to you for giving me such a home." "Grateful to me for hiding you away in these little musty rooms, as if you hadn't the sweetest face the sun ever shone on!" cried the good woman, self-reproachfully. "Not a bit of it, my dear. I'm ashamed of myself for treating you so. It mustn't go on so, or your health will suffer, and so I shall tell Lady Lancaster; and if she won't allow you the liberty of the grounds, I will go away from here and make us a snug little home somewhere else, where we may come and go as we please; so there!" said the good woman, with sudden independence. Leonora rose impulsively and went and kissed the homely face of her friend. "Aunt West, would you really do that much for me?" she exclaimed, delightedly. "Yes, I would," Mrs. West answered, firmly. "Poor Dick left you to me to take care of, and I'm bound to do the best I can for your happiness." "Ah!" said Leonora, checking an impatient sigh. "And I've come to tell you," Mrs. West continued, "that if you'd like to go and sketch the Abbey ruins, you may go this morning, Leonora." "If I'd like!" cried the girl. "Oh, Aunt West! it's just what I was wishing for. I shall be so happy!" "Yes; you shall go, dear, and stay all day, if you like. I'll put you up a nice cold lunch in a little basket, and I'll hire the lodge-keeper's boy to show you the way. I'll give him a shilling to go, and he will stay all day to keep you from getting frightened." "I shall not be frightened," said Leonora, radiant. "I don't know; it's still and lonesome-like there, and the bats and screech-owls might startle you. And there's an old dismantled chapel, too--" "Oh, how lovely! I shall sketch that, too!" Leonora exclaimed, clapping her bands like a gleeful child. "And a little old grave-yard," pursued Mrs. West. "Some of the old Lancasters are buried there. You might be afraid of their ghosts." "I am not afraid of the Lancasters, dead or living," the girl answered, saucily, her spirits rising at the prospect before her.