After a restless and uncomfortable night, Mary Cuthbert left her pillow; and having taken a survey of the park, and the surrounding country, from her windows, and made a little arrangement of her wardrobe, she stole down stairs, intending to taste the morning air by a short stroll. All was quiet in the house, and she found her way to the corridor, and the door of the Lyceum being open, she saw a house-maid busily engaged with her duster and brushes. ‘Are none of the family stirring?’ asked Mary. ‘Oh dear, no, Miss,’ said the servant with a curt-sey. ‘Does Miss Moreton breakfast in this room?’ ‘Oh no, Miss, she do breakfast, most common, in the Boy doer, with the French Caviller; only sometimes she gets up earlyish, when the Captain be here, because they spouts a bit together, before breakfast, with the pebble stones in their mouths, out there in the park, because they do make plays in there, in the theatre, together.’ ‘Has Miss Moreton a private theatre in the Villa?’ ‘Yes, that's what she have, Miss – t'was a chapel in old times, but now 'tis convarted, you see!’ Mary Cuthbert shuddered at the perversion of her cousin; when a tall figure, in a blue worsted dressing-gown and scarlet night-cap, crossed the gravel-walk, outside the windows; she started. The maid, who was a simple uninformed creature, burst into a loud and hearty laugh; ‘I'fegs, Miss, I don't wonder at your being a little gushed; what a quare figure he do cut, to be sure! he is really terrifying to behold!’ ‘Is the poor creature beside himself?’ ‘Oh law's me, no, Miss, he be only one of the Floss-all-overs, as they call 'em; 'tis Mr. Germ; he as you seed last night; he gets up early to snailing!’ ‘What is that?’ asked Mary. ‘What, don'tee know, Miss? Why, he've been a gathering of snails, and slugs, and caterpillars.