'Is it you, Toby?' she said, opening the window cautiously.
'No, it's me,' said a girl's voice. 'Have you got a fire in there?'
'Who are you?' said Rosalie fearfully.
'I'll tell you when I get in,' said the girl. 'Let me come and warm myself by your fire!'
Rosalie did not know what to do. She did not much like opening the door, for how could she tell who this stranger might be? She had almost determined to call Toby, when the sound of sobbing made her change her mind.
'What's the matter?' she said, addressing the girl.
'I'm cold and hungry and miserable!' she said with a sob; 'and I saw your light, and I thought you would let me in.'
Rosalie hesitated no longer. She unbolted the door, and the dark figure on the steps came in. She threw off a long cloak with which she was covered; and Rosalie could see that she was quite a young girl, about seventeen years old, and that she had been crying until her eyes were swollen and red. She was as cold as ice; there seemed to be no feeling in her hands, and her teeth chattered as she sat down on the bench by the side of the stove.
Rosalie put some cold tea into a little pan and made it hot. And when the girl had drunk this, she seemed better, and more inclined to talk.
'Is that your mother?' she said, glancing at the bed where Rosalie's mother was still sleeping peacefully.