They had but four rooms in the cottage.

Margaret slept in the biggest room up-stairs, and her grand-daughter in a kind of closet adjoining, where she could be within hearing, if her grandmother should call her in the night.
The girl was often disturbed in that manner--two or three times in a night she has been forced to leave her bed, to fetch her grandmother's cordials, or do some little service for her--but she knew that Margaret's ailings were _real_ and pressing, and Rosamund never complained--never suspected, that her grandmother's requisitions had anything unreasonable in them.
The night she parted with Miss Clare, she had helped Margaret to bed, as usual--and, after saying her prayers, as the custom was, kneeling by the old lady's bedside, kissed her grandmother, and wished her a good-night--Margaret blessed her, and charged her to go to bed directly.

It was her customary injunction, and Rosamund had never dreamed of disobeying.
So she retired to her little room.

The night was warm and clear--the moon very bright--her window commanded a view of _scenes_ she had been tracing in the daytime with Miss Clare.
All the events of the day past, the occurrences of their walk arose in her mind.

She fancied she should like to retrace those scenes--but it was now nine o'clock, a late hour in the village.
Still she fancied it would be very charming--and then her grandmother's injunction came powerfully to her recollection--she sighed, and turned from the window-and walked up and down her little room.
Ever, when she looked at the window, the wish returned.