Anne Hereford. Mrs. Henry Wood

       CHAPTER I.

      MRS. EDWIN BARLEY.

      An express train was dashing along a line of rails in the heart of England. On one of the first-class carriages there had been a board, bearing the intimation 'For Ladies Only,' but the guard took it off when the train first started. It had come many miles since. Seated inside, the only passenger in that compartment, was a little girl in deep mourning. All was black about her save the white frills of her drawers, which peeped below her short, black, flounced frock. A thoughtful, gentle child, with a smooth, pale forehead, earnest eyes, and long, dark eyelashes that swept her cheek. It was a gloomy September day, foggy, and threatening rain--a sad-looking day; and the child's face seemed to have borrowed the aspect of the weather, pervaded, as it was, by a tinge of sadness. That little girl was myself, Anne Hereford.

      The train slackened speed, and glided into an important station, larger than any we had passed. It was striking one, and the guard came up to the carriage. "Now, my little lady," said he, "change lines here, and stop for ten minutes."

      I liked that guard. He had a kind, hearty face, and he had come up several times to the carriage-door during the journey, asking how I got on. He told me he had a little girl of his own, about as old as I.

      "Are you hungry?" he asked, as he lifted me from the carriage.

      "Not very, thank you. I have eaten the biscuits."

      "Halloa! Stern!" he called out, stopping a man who was hurrying past. "Are you going with the Nettleby train?"

      "Yes. What if I am?" was the man's answer. He was rightly named Stern, for he had a stern, sour face.

      "See this little girl. She is in the guard's charge. To be put in the ladies' carriage, and taken on to Nettleby."

      The man gave a short nod by way of answer, and hurried away. And the guard took me into a large room, where crowds were pressing round a counter. "Here, Miss Williams," he said, to one of the young women behind it, "give this little lady something to eat and drink, and take care of her till the Nettleby train starts. She's to have what comes to a shilling."

      "What will you take, my dear?" asked Miss Williams.

      The counter was so full of good things that I did not know what, but fixed at length upon a plum-tart. Miss Williams laughed, and said I had better eat some sandwiches first and the tart afterwards.

      She was pouring me out a cup of coffee when the guard came up again. "Your baggage is changed, little lady," said he. "You'll find it all right at the Nettleby station. Good day."

      "Good-bye, and thank you," I answered, holding out my hand, that he might shake it. I felt sorry to part with him--he seemed like a friend. Soon after, the surly guard put in his head and beckoned to me. He marshalled me to a carriage which had a similar board upon it to the other, "For Ladies Only," and shut me in without a word. Two ladies sat opposite to me. They did not speak either; but they stared a great deal. I thought it must be at the two tarts Miss Williams had given me in a paper bag, and did not like to eat them.

      At the next station another lady got in, and she began talking at once.

      "Are you travelling all alone, little girl?"

      "Yes, ma'am. The guard takes care of me?"

      "Have you come far?"

      I had come from a remote part of Devonshire, the seacoast. It seemed a long way to me, and I said so.

      "Will you tell me your name? I daresay it is a pretty one."

      "It is Anne Hereford."

      "Devonshire is a very nice part of the country. Have you lived in it all your life?"

      "Not quite. I was born in India. Mamma brought me to England when I was three years old."

      "You are in deep mourning. Is it for a near relative?"

      I did not answer. I turned to look out at the window until the tears should go away again. I could not bear that strangers should see them. The lady asked again, and presently I turned round.

      "For mamma."

      She was silent for some time, looking at me. "Is your papa dead also?"

      "He died a long while before mamma did."

      "You say you were born in India: perhaps he was an officer?"

      "He was Colonel Hereford."

      "How many brothers and sisters have you?"

      "Not any."

      "Where are you going to live?"

      "I don't know. I am going now to my Aunt Selina's."

      The train approached a station, and the lady got out, or she probably would have asked me a great deal more. At the station following that, the two silent ladies left, and I was alone again. The first thing I did was to eat my tarts and throw away the paper bag. After that I fell asleep, and remembered no more till the guard's surly voice woke me.

      "This is Nettleby, if you are a-going to get out. He said something about some luggage. How much is it?"

      "A large box and a small one, and two carpet-bags. 'Miss Hereford, passenger to Nettleby,' is written on them. Can you please to tell me whether it is far to Mr. Edwin Barley's?"

      "I don't know any Mr. Edwin Barley. Jem," added he, to one of the porters, "see after her. I'm going to hand out her things."

      "Where do you want to go, Miss?" the porter asked.

      "To Mr. Edwin Barley's. They told me I must get out at the Nettleby station, and ask to be sent on, unless a carriage met me here."

      "You must mean Mr. Edwin Barley of Hallam."

      "Yes, that's it. Is it far?"

      "Well, Hallam's five miles off, and the house is a mile on this side of it. There's no rail, Miss; you must go by the omnibus."

      "But you are sure that Mrs. Edwin Barley has not come to meet me?" I asked, feeling a sort of chill.

      Not any one had come, and the porter put me into the omnibus with some more passengers. What a long drive it seemed! And the hedges and trees looked very dreary, for the shades of evening were gathering.

      At the foot of a hill the omnibus pulled up, and a man who had sat by the driver came round. "Ain't there somebody inside for Mr. Edwin Barley's?"

      "Yes; I am."

      I got out, and the luggage was put upon the ground. "Two shillings, Miss," said the man.

      "Two