“Poor, ignorant critturs!” said she, by way of apology, “they knows no better:  thar’s the mischief of being raised in the back-woods.  They’ll never l’arn to be genteel, thar’s so many common persons comes out here with their daughters.  I’m sure, I do my best to l’arn ’em.”

With these words she tendered her own good offices to Edith, which the young lady declining with many thanks, she bade her good-night, and, to Edith’s great relief, left her to herself.  A few moments then sufficed to complete her preparations for slumber, which being effected, she threw herself on her knees, to implore the further favour of the orphan’s Friend, who had conducted her so far in safety on her journey.

Whilst thus engaged, her mind absorbed in the solemn duty, she failed to note that another visitor had softly stolen into the apartment; and accordingly, when she rose from her devotions, and beheld a female figure standing in the distance, though regarding her with both reverence and timidity, she could not suppress an exclamation of alarm.

“Do not be afraid,—­it is only Telie Doe,” said the visitor, with a low and trembling voice:  “I thought you would want some one to—­to take the candle.”

“You are very good,” replied Edith, who, having scarcely before observed the humble and retiring maid, and supposing her to be one of her host’s children, had little doubt she had stolen in to indulge her curiosity, like the others, although at so late a moment as to authorise a little cruelty on the part of the guest.  “I am very tired and sleepy,” she said, creeping into bed, hoping that the confession would be understood and accepted as an apology.  She then, seeing that Telie did not act upon the hint, intimated that she had no further occasion for the light, and bade her good-night.  But Telie, instead of departing, maintained her stand at the little rude table, where, besides the candle, were several articles of apparel that Edith had laid out in readiness for the morning, and upon which she thought the girl’s eyes were fixed.

“If you had come a little earlier,” said Edith, with unfailing good-nature, “I should have been glad to show you anything I have.  But now, indeed, it is too late, and all my packages are made up—­”

“It is not that,” interrupted the maiden hastily, but with trepidation.  “No, I did not want to trouble you.  But—­”

“But what?” demanded Edith, with surprise, yet with kindness, for she observed the agitation of the speaker.

“Lady,” said Telie, mustering resolution, and stepping to the bed-side, “if you will not be angry with me, I would, I would—­”

“You would ask a favour, perhaps,” said Edith, encouraging her with a smile.

“Yes, that is it,” replied the girl, dropping on her knees, not so much, however, as it appeared, from abasement of spirit, as to bring her lips nearer to Edith’s ear, that she might speak in a lower voice.  “I know, from what they say, you are a great lady, and that you once had many people to wait upon you; and now you are in the wild woods, among strangers, and none about you but men.”  Edith replied with a sigh, and Telie, timorously grasping at the hand lying nearest her own, murmured eagerly, “If you would but take me with you, I am used to the woods, and I would be your servant.”