and she loved me too so well! Young as I
was, our relation to each other became in
many things like that of mother and child.
It was strange that, of her own accord, from
the first she called me Aunt Dinah. And I so
soon grew accustomed to the title, and so soon
too fell quite naturally into calling her my child,
for though yet but a girl in years, I was
becoming a woman very quickly, as I should
think must often be the case with those who
have their destiny in life fixed as early as
mine was, for I had no other outward
change to look forward to as most girls have,
and all my business was to settle down and
be content.

My life, I often think, might have been
lonely and sad without my child, but with her
I was very happy. It was as if I lived again
in her, for all the hopes and wishes that my
illness had crushed came into life again, but
not for myself now. It was for her that I
dreamed, and hoped, and thought, – for the
little bright-eyed child who loved to lie beside
me, with her white arms round my neck, and
her soft cheek pressed on mine; who loved
Heaven bless her – to be with me always; who
never was so happy as when, even for hours,
we two would be left alone together, and,
with the perfect confidence that only children
have, she would talk to me of all things that
came in her mind, gladdening my very heart
with the loving things she said. They all
loved her, but none as I did, for she loved
none of them so well. They used to say that
I should spoil her, but I never did; she was
not made to be spoiled, my little Fortune,
my sunny, bright-haired child!

She was my pupil for the first few years,
and such dear lessons they were that we used
to have together, – dear to both of us, though
most to me. She was so good and gentle, so
sorry if she ever grieved me, so eager to be
good and be forgiven again – as though my
heart did not forgive her always, even before
she asked it so loving always. She never
wearied of being with me – the kind child –
not even when, as happened sometimes, I was
too ill to bear her childish merriment, and
she would have to sit quietly in my room,
and lower her sweet clear voice when she
spoke to me, for she would hang upon my
neck then too, and whisper to me how she
loved me. Ah, I never shall forget it all, – I
never shall forget how good my little Fortune
was to me.

I may as well mention here, that soon after
it was settled she should stay with us, we had
a little miniature portrait of her taken, which
I have worn ever since as a locket round my
neck. We did this on the chance that it
might possibly serve on some future day as a
means of identifying her. Here is the little
picture now; it is so like her, as I have seen
her a thousand times, With her sunny veil of
curls around her.

The years went on, and brought some
changes with them – one change which was
very sad – my mother's death. It came upon
us suddenly, at a time when we were least
thinking of sorrow, for when her short illness
began we were preparing for my sister Kate's
marriage. It was long before the gloom and
grief that her loss threw upon our little
household passed away, for she was dearly
loved amongst us, and had been a most noble
and true-hearted woman.

When Kate had been married about a year,
my father withdrew from practice, and, to be
near her, we removed to Derbyshire, and he,
and I, and Fortune, kept house there, in a
quiet cheerful way together. And so the
years went on until my child was about
seventeen.

In this new part of the country we had not
many neighbours with whom we were
intimate, but there was one family, who, since
our first coming, had shown us much kindness.
Their name was Beresford, and they
consisted of a father and mother, and one son,
who was at college. They were wealthy
people, with a good deal of property in the
county. When we first knew them I had not
been without a suspicion – I almost think it
was a hope – that Arthur Beresford and my
Fortune might one day fall in love with one
another; but it was not to be, for as they
grew up, I saw that there was no thought of
more than a common friendly love between
them; and, indeed, boys of one-and-twenty are
generally occupied with other things than
falling in love, and girls of seventeen, I think,
generally suppose that one-and-twenty is too
young for them to have anything to do with,
as no doubt it very often is. So they remained
good friends, and nothing more.

I remember well Arthur Beresford's return
from college two or three months before he
came of age, and how, on the day after – a
bright June morning it was – he burst into
our drawing-room, with the gay exclamation,
"Here I am, Aunt Dinah, and free for the
next four months!" and coming up to me,
took both my hands in his, and looked so gay,
and so happy, and so handsome, that it did
me good only to look at him. He was in very
high spirits indeed, for not only had he gained
his freedom, as he called it, but he had
succeeded in bringing back with him his cousin,
Nevill Erlington, a fellow and tutor at Oxford,
who had done him, so he said, such services
during his career there, that had it not been
for him he should never have been the happy
fellow he was there, which, whether it was
as true as he thought it or not, I liked the
boy for saying and thinking.

And one or two days afterwards, Nevill
Erlington came with Mr. Beresford and
Arthur to call on us. He was six or seven
years older than Arthur, and neither so lively
nor so handsome, but he had a firm, broad,
thoughtful brow and deep lustrous eyes, and
a voice so deep, and rich, and soft, that it was
like the sound of music to hear him speak.
I liked him from the first – we all did – and it