If she missed him at the masquerade, no one would have guessed it. She danced indefatigably the whole night through, refused an offer of marriage from a slightly intoxicated Mr. Epworth, tumbled into bed at an advanced hour in the morning, and dropped instantly into untroubled sleep.
She was awakened at a most unseasonable hour by the sudden clatter of fire-irons in the cold hearth. Since the menial who crept into her chamber each morning to sweep the grate, and kindle a new fire there, performed her task with trained stealth, this noise was unusual enough to rouse Arabella with a start. A gasp and a whimper, proceeding from the direction of the fireplace, made her sit up with a jerk, blinking at the unexpected vision of a small, dirty, and tearstained little boy, almost cowering on the hearth-rug, and regarding her out of scared, dilating eyes.
“Good gracious!” gasped Arabella, staring at him. “Who are you?”
The child cringed at the sound of her voice, and returned no answer. The mists of sleep curled away from Arabella’s brain; her eyes took in the soot lying on the floor, the grimed appearance of her strange visitant, and enlightenment dawned on her. “You must be a climbing-boy!” she exclaimed. “But what are you doing in my room?” Then she perceived the terror in the pinched, and grimed small face, and she said quickly: “Don’t be afraid! Did you lose your way in those horrid chimneys?”
The urchin nodded, knuckling his eyes. He further volunteered the information that ole Grimsby would bash him for it. Arabella, who had had leisure to observe that one side of his face was swollen and discoloured, demanded: “Is that your master? Does he beat you?”
The urchin nodded again, and shivered.
“Well, he shan’t beat you for this!” said Arabella, stretching out her hand for the dressing-gown that was chastely disposed across the chair beside her bed. “Wait! I am going to get up!”
The urchin looked very much alarmed by this intelligence, and shrank back against the wall, watching her defensively. She slid out of bed, thrust her feet into her slippers, fastened her dressing-gown, and advanced kindly upon her visitor. He flung up an instinctive arm, cringing before her. He was clad in disgraceful rags, and Arabella now saw that the ends of his frieze nether-garments were much charred, and that his skinny legs and his bare feet were badly burnt. She dropped to her knees, crying out pitifully: “Oh, poor little fellow! You have burnt yourself so dreadfully!”
He slightly lowered his protective arm, looking suspiciously at her over it. “Ole Grimsby done it,” he said.
She caught her breath. “What!”