people　were；　but　she　did　not　know　that　she　was　so　herself。
  She　thought　Mrs。　Medlock　the　most　disagreeable　person　she　had　ever　seen；　with　her　common；　highly　colored　face　and　her　common　fine　bonnet。　　When　the　next　day　they　set　out　on　their　journey　to　Yorkshire；　she　walked　through　the　station　to　the　railway　carriage　with　her　head　up　and　trying　to　keep　as　far　away　from　her　as　she　could；　because　she　did　not　want　to　seem　to　belong　to　her。　It　would　have　made　her　angry　to　think　people　imagined　she　was　her　little　girl。
  But　Mrs。　Medlock　was　not　in　the　least　disturbed　by　her　and　her　thoughts。　　She　was　the　kind　of　woman　who　would　〃stand　no　nonsense　from　young　ones。〃　At　least；　that　is　what　she　would　have　said　if　she　had　been　asked。　　She　had　not　wanted　to　go　to　London　just　when　her　sister　Maria's　daughter　was　going　to　be　married；　but　she　had　a　comfortable；　well　paid　place　as　housekeeper　at　Misselthwaite　Manor　and　the　only　way　in　which　she　could　keep　it　was　to　do　at　once　what　Mr。　Archibald　Craven　told　her　to　do。　She　never　dared　even　to　ask　a　question。
  〃Captain　Lennox　and　his　wife　died　of　the　cholera；〃　Mr。　Craven　had　said　in　his　short；　cold　way。　　〃Captain　Lennox　was　my　wife's　brother　and　I　am　their　daughter's　guardian。　The　child　is　to　be　brought　here。　　You　must　go　to　London　and　bring　her　yourself。〃
  So　she　packed　her　small　trunk　and　made　the　journey。
  Mary　sat　in　her　corner　of　the　railway　carriage　and　looked　plain　and　fretful。　　She　had　nothing　to　read　or　to　look　at；　and　she　had　folded　her　thin　little　black…gloved　hands　in　her　lap。　　Her　black　dress　made　her　look　yellower　than　ever；　and　her　limp　light　hair　straggled　from　under　her　black　crepe　hat。
  〃A　more　marred…looking　young　one　I　never　saw　in　my　life；〃　Mrs。　Medlock　thought。　　（Marred　is　a　Yorkshire　word　and　means　spoiled　and　pettish。）　She　had　never　seen　a　child　who　sat　so　still　without　doing　anything；　and　at　last　she　got　tired　of　watching　her　and　began　to　talk　in　a　brisk；　hard　voice。
  〃I　suppose　I　may　as　well　tell　you　something　about　where　you　are　going　to；〃　she　said。　　〃Do　you　know　anything　about　your　uncle？〃
  〃No；〃　said　Mary。
  〃Never　heard　your　father　and　mother　talk　about　him？〃
  〃No；〃　said　Mary　frowning。　　She　frowned　because　she　remembered　that　her　father　and　mother　had　never　talked　to　her　about　anything　in　particular。　　Certainly　they　had　never　told　her　things。
  〃Humph；〃　muttered　Mrs。　Medlock；　staring　at　her　queer；　unresponsive　little　face。　　She　did　not　say　any　more　for　a　few　moments　and　then　she　began　again。
  〃I　suppose　you　might　as　well　be　told　somethingto　prepare　you。　　You　are　going　to　a　queer　place。〃
  Mary　said　nothing　at　all；　and　Mrs。　Medlock　looked　rather　discomfited　by　her　apparent　indifference；　but；　after　taking　a　breath；　she　went　on。
  〃Not　but　that　it's　a　grand　big　place　in　a　gloomy　way；　and　Mr。　Craven's　proud　of　it　in　his　wayand　that's　gloomy　enough；　too。　　The　house　is　six　hundred　years　old　and　it's　on　the　edge　of　the　moor；　and　there's　near　a　hundred　rooms　in　it；　though　most　of　them's　shut　up　and　locked。　And　there's　pictures　and　fine　old　furniture　and　things　that's　been　there　for　ages；　and　there's　a　big　park　round　it　and　gardens　and　trees　with　branches　trailing　to　the　groundsome　of　them。〃　She　paused　and　took　another　breath。　〃But　there's　nothing　else；〃　she　ended　suddenly。
  Mary　had　begun　to　listen　in　spite　of　herself。　　It　all　sounded　so　unlike　India；　and　anything　new　rather　attracted　her。　But　she　did　not　intend　to　look　as　if　she　were　interested。　That　was　one　of　her　unhappy；　disagreeable　ways。　　So　she　sat　still。
  〃Well；〃　said　Mrs。　Medlock。　　〃What　do　you　think　of　it？〃
  〃Nothing；〃　she　answered。　　〃I　know　nothing　about　such　places。〃
  That　made　Mrs。　Medlock　laugh　a　short　sort　of　laugh。
  〃Eh！〃　she　said；　〃but　you　are　like　an　old　woman。　Don't　you　care？〃
  〃It　doesn't　matter〃　said　Mary；　〃whether　I　care　or　not。〃
  〃You　are　right　enough　there；〃　said　Mrs。　Medlock。　〃It　doesn't。　What　you're　to　be　kept　at　Misselthwaite　Manor　for　I　don't　know；　unless　because　it's　the　easiest　way。　He's　not　going　to　trouble　himself　about　you；　that's　sure　and　certain。　　He　never　troubles　himself　about　no　one。〃
  She　stopped　herself　as　if　she　had　just　remembered　something　in　time。
  〃He's　got　a　crooked　back；〃　she　said。　　〃That　set　him　wrong。　He　was　a　sour　young　man　and　got　no　good　of　all　his　money　and　big　place　till　he　was　married。〃
  Mary's　eyes　turned　toward　her　in　spite　of　her　intention　not　to　seem　to　care。　　She　had　never　thought　of　the　hunchback's　being　married　and　she　was　a　trifle　surprised。　Mrs。　Medlock　saw　this；　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'tshe　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　〃Riquet　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　lockeda　house　on　the　edge　of　a　moorwhatsoever　a　moor　wassounded　dreary。　A　man　with　a　crooked　back　who　shut　himself　up　also！　She　stared　out　of　the　window　with　her　lips　pinched　together；　and　it　seemed　quite　natural　that　the　rain　should　have　begun　to　pour　down　in　gray　slanting　lines　and　splash　and　stream　down　the　window…panes。　If　the　pretty　wife　had　been　alive　she　might　have　made　things　cheerful　by　being　something　like　her　own　mother　and　by　running　in　and　out　and　going　to　parties　as　she　had　done　in　frocks　〃full　of　lace。〃　But　she　was　not　there　any　more。
  〃You　needn't　expect　to　see　him；　because　ten　to　one　you　won't；〃　said　Mrs。　Medlock。　　〃And　you　mustn't　expect　that　there　will　be　people　to　talk　to　you。　　You'll　have　to　play　about　and　look　after　yourself。　　You'll　be　told　what　rooms　you　can　go　into　and　what　rooms　you're　to　keep　out　of。　There's　gardens　enough。　　But　when　you're　in　the　house　don't　go　wandering　and　poking　about。　　Mr。　Craven　won't　have　it。〃
  〃I　shall　not　want　to　go　poking　about；〃　said　sour　little　Mary　and　just　as　suddenly　as　she　had　begun　to　be　rather　sorry　for　Mr。　Archibald　Craven　she　began　to　cease　to　be　sorry　and　to　think　he　was　unpleasant　enough　to　deserve　all　that　had　happened　to　him。
  And　she　turned　her　face　toward　the　streaming　panes　of　the　window　of　the　railway　carriage　and　gazed　out　at　the　gray　rain…storm　which　looked　as　if　it　would　go　on　forever　and　ever。　She　watched　it　so　long　and　steadily　that　the　grayness　grew　heavier　and　heavier　before　her　eyes　and　she　fell　asleep。
  CHAPTER　III
  ACROSS　THE　MOOR
  She　slept　a　long　time；　and　when　she　awakened　Mrs。　Medlock　had　bought　a　lunchbasket　at　one　of　the　stations　and　they　had　some　chicken　and　cold　beef　and　bread　and　butter　and　some　hot　tea。　　The　rain　seemed　to　be　streaming　down　more　heavily　than　ever　and　everybody　in　the　station　wore　wet　and　glistening　waterproofs。　　The　guard　lighted　the　lamps　in　the　carriage；　and　Mrs。　Medlock　cheered　up　very　much　over　her　tea　and　chicken　and　beef。　　She　ate　a　great　deal　and　afterward　fell　asleep　herself；　and　Mary　sat　and　stared　at　her　and　watched　her　fine　bonnet　slip　on　one　side　until　she　herself　fell　asleep　once　more　in　the　corner　of　the　carriage；　lulled　by　the　splashing　of　the　rain　against　the　windows。　It　was　quite　dark　when　she　awakened　again。　　The　train　had　stopped　at　a　station　and　Mrs。　Medlock　was　shaking　her。
  〃You　have　had　a　sleep！〃　she　said。　　〃It's　time　to　open　your　eyes！　We're　at　Thwaite　Station　and　we've　got　a　long　drive　before　us。〃
  Mary　stood　up　and　tried　to　keep　her　eyes　open　while　Mrs。　Medlock　collected　her　parcels。　　The　little　girl　did　not　offer　to　help　her；　because　in　India　native　servants　always　picked　up　or　carried　things　and　it　seemed　quite　proper　that　other　people　should　wait　on　one。
  The　station　was　a　small　one　and　nobody　but　themselves　seemed　to　be　getting　out　of　the　train。　　The　station…master　spoke　to　Mrs。　Medlock　in　a　rough；　good…natured　way；　pronouncing　his　words　in　a　queer　broad　fashion　which　Mary　found　out　afterward　was　Yorkshire。
  〃I　see　tha's　got　back；〃　he　said。　　〃An'　tha's　browt　th'　young　'un　with　thee。〃
  〃Aye；　that's　her；〃　answered　Mrs。　Medlock；　speaking　with　a　Yorkshire　accent　herself　and　jerking　her　head　over　her　shoulder　toward　Mary。　　〃How's　thy　Missus？〃
  〃Well　enow。　　Th'　carriage　is　waitin'　outside　for　thee。〃
  A　brougham　stood　on　the　road　before　the　little　outside　platform。　　Mary　saw　that　it　was　a　smart　carriage　and　that　it　was　a　smart　footman　who　helped　her　in。　His　long　waterproof　coat　and　the　waterproof　covering　of　his　hat　were　s