"I shouldn't like to sleep in this yeer bed without a good conscience, Miss," said the old woman.

"There's room for us and a half-dozen of ghosts in it," says Rebecca.

"Tell me all about Lady Crawley and Sir Pitt Crawley, and everybody, my DEAR Mrs.Tinker." But old Tinker was not to be pumped by this little cross-questioner; and signifying to her that bed was a place for sleeping, not conversation, set up in her corner of the bed such a snore as only the nose of innocence can produce.

Rebecca lay awake for a long, long time, thinking of the morrow, and of the new world into which she was going, and of her chances of success there.

The rushlight flickered in the basin.