and as she was a talkative woman she continued
with more interest. This was one way of passing
some of the time, at any rate.

"She was a sweet, pretty thing and he'd have
walked the world over to get her a blade o' grass
she wanted. Nobody thought she'd marry him,
but she did, and people said she married him for
his money. But she didn't -- she didn't," positively.
"When she died --"

Mary gave a little involuntary jump.

"Oh! did she die!" she exclaimed, quite without
meaning to. She had just remembered a
French fairy story she had once read called "Ri-
quet a la Houppe." It had been about a poor
hunchback and a beautiful princess and it had made
her suddenly sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven.

"Yes, she died," Mrs. Medlock answered.
"And it made him queerer than ever. He cares
about nobody. He won't see people. Most of
the time he goes away, and when he is at Misselthwaite
he shuts himself up in the West Wing and
won't let any one but Pitcher see him. Pitcher's
an old fellow, but he took care of him when he
was a child and he knows his ways."

It sounded like something in a book and it did
not make Mary feel cheerful. A house with
a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with
their doors locked -- a house on the edge of a

[[20]]

p019 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p020w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p021

v?