Airy Fairy Lilian. Duchess

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СКАЧАТЬ over her guest's head at her second son, and smiling kindly.

      "Great care of me," returning the smile.

      "But you are tired, of course; it is a long journey, and no doubt you are glad to reach home," says Lady Chetwoode, using the word naturally. And though the mention of it causes Lilian a pang, still there is something tender and restful about it too, that gives some comfort to her heart.

      "Perhaps you would like to go to your room," continues Lady Chetwoode, thoughtfully, "though I fear your maid cannot have arrived yet."

      "Miss Chesney, like Juliet, boasts a nurse," says Cyril; "she scorns to travel with a mere maid."

      "My nurse has always attended me," says Lilian, laughing and blushing. "She has waited on me since I was a month old. I should not know how to get on without her, and I am sure she could not get on without me. I think she is far better than any maid I could get."

      "She must have an interest in you that no new-comer could possibly have," says Lady Chetwoode, who is in the humor to agree with anything Lilian may say, so thankful is she to her for being what she is. And yet so strong is habit that involuntarily, as she speaks, her eyes seek Lilian's hair, which is dressed to perfection. "I have no doubt she is a treasure,"—with an air of conviction. "Come with me, my dear."

      They leave the room together. In the hall the housekeeper, coming forward, says respectfully:

      "Shall I take Miss Chesney to her room, my lady?"

      "No, Matthews," says Lady Chetwoode, graciously; "it will give me pleasure to take her there myself."

      By which speech all the servants are at once made aware that Miss Chesney is already in high favor with "my lady," who never, except on very rare occasions, takes the trouble to see personally after her visitors' comfort.

      * * * * * * *

      When Lilian has been ten minutes in her room Mrs. Tipping arrives, and is shown up-stairs, where she finds her small mistress evidently in the last stage of despondency. These ten lonely minutes have been fatal to her new-born hopes, and have reduced her once more to the melancholy frame of mind in which she left her home in the morning. All this the faithful Tipping sees at a glance, and instantly essays to cheer her.

      Silently and with careful fingers she first removes her hat, then her jacket, then she induces her to stand up, and, taking off her dress, throws round her a white wrapper taken from a trunk, and prepares to brush the silky yellow hair that for eighteen years has been her own to dress and tend and admire.

      "Eh, Miss Lilian, child, but it's a lovely place!" she says, presently, this speech being intended as a part of the cheering process.

      "It seems a fine place," says the "child," indifferently.

      "Fine it is indeed. Grander even than the Park, I'm thinking."

      "'Grander than the Park'!" says Miss Chesney, rousing to unexpected fervor. "How can you say that? Have you grown fickle, nurse? There is no place to be compared to the Park, not one in all the world. You can think as you please, of course,"—with reproachful scorn—"but it is not grander than the Park."

      "I meant larger, ninny," soothingly.

      "It is not larger."

      "But, darling, how can you say so when you haven't been round it?"

      "How can you say so when you haven't been round it?"

      This is a poser. Nurse meditates a minute and then says:

      "Thomas—that's the groom that drove me—says it is."

      "Thomas!"—with a look that, had the wretched Thomas been on the spot, would infallibly have reduced him to ashes; "and what does Thomas know about it? It is not larger."

      Silence.

      "Indeed, my bairn, I think you might well be happy here," says nurse, tenderly returning to the charge.

      "I don't want you to think about me at all," says Miss Chesney, in trembling tones. "You agreed with Aunt Priscilla that I ought to leave my dear, dear home, and I shall never forgive you for it. I am not happy here. I shall never be happy here. I shall die of fretting for the Park, and when I am dead you will perhaps be satisfied."

      "Miss Lilian!"

      "You shan't brush my hair any more," says Miss Lilian, dexterously evading the descent of the brush. "I can do it for myself very well. You are a traitor."

      "I am sorry, Miss Chesney, if I have displeased you," says nurse, with much dignity tempered with distress: only when deeply grieved and offended does she give her mistress her full title.

      "How dare you call me Miss Chesney!" cries the young lady, springing to her feet. "It is very unkind of you, and just now too, when I am all alone in a strange house. Oh, nurse!" throwing her arms round the neck of that devoted and long-suffering woman, and forgetful of her resentment, which indeed was born only of her regret, "I am so unhappy, and lonely, and sorry! What shall I do?"

      "How can I tell you, my lamb?"—caressing with infinite affection the golden head that lies upon her bosom. "All that I say only vexes you."

      "No, it doesn't: I am wicked when I make you think that. After all,"—raising her face—"I am not quite forsaken; I have you still, and you will never leave me."

      "Not unless I die, my dear," says nurse, earnestly. "And, Miss Lilian, how can you look at her ladyship without knowing her to be a real friend. And Mr. Chetwoode too; and perhaps Sir Guy will be as nice, when you see him."

      "Perhaps he won't," ruefully.

      "That's nonsense, my dear. Let us look at the bright side of things always. And by and by Master Taffy will come here on a visit, and then it will be like old times. Come, now, be reasonable, child of my heart," says nurse, "and tell me, won't you look forward to having Master Taffy here?"

      "I wish he was here now," says Lilian, visibly brightening. "Yes; perhaps they will ask him. But, nurse, do you remember when last I saw Taffy it was at——"

      Here she shows such unmistakable symptoms of relapsing into the tearful mood again, that nurse sees the necessity of changing the subject.

      "Come, my bairn, let me dress you for dinner," she says, briskly, and presently, after a little more coaxing, she succeeds so well that she sends her little mistress down to the drawing-room, looking her loveliest and her best.

CHAPTER V.

       Table of Contents

      "Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self,

      Recluse amid the close-embowering woods."

       —Thomson.

      Next morning, having enjoyed the long and dreamless sleep that belongs to the heart-whole, Lilian runs down to the breakfast-room, with the warm sweet flush of health and youth upon her cheeks. Finding Lady Chetwoode and Cyril already before her, she СКАЧАТЬ