was not long before he became an almost
daily visitor at our house, coming sometimes
alone, on the excuse—I knew it was but an
excuse—of bringing us books, or news, or
some such thing, but more often, with one or
other of the Beresfords. Indeed, after a little
time, I know that I, for one, fell quite into a
habit of missing him if ever a day passed
without his coming, for his quiet, gentle
presence had in it a great charm to me, and
he had fallen so kindly and naturally into
my ways, that I had felt, almost from the
first day, that he was not a stranger but a
friend.

Nor was I the only one who watched for
his daily visits, or felt lonely when he did not
come. My dear child seldom spoke much of
him when he was away; even when he was
with us she was often very quiet, but I knew
soon that in both their hearts a deep, true
love was growing up, and that my darling
would one day be Nevill's wife. And he
deserved her, and she him. Timid as she was
now, I knew that it would not be always so;
I knew that, presently, when all was understood
between them, her present reserve
would pass away, and my Fortune, as she
really was, with her bright, sunny gaiety,
with her graceful, hoping woman's nature,
with her deeply-loving, faithful heart, would
stand beside him, to illumine and to brighten
his whole life. Such happy days those were
while these two young hearts were drawing
to each other – happy to them and me,
though over my joy there was still one little
cloud.

Mr. and Mrs. Beresford were the only
persons amongst our new friends to whom I
had told my Fortune's story. I did not feel
that it was a thing I needed to tell to every
one; but now I was anxious that Nevill
should know it, and felt uneasy as day after
day passed, and kept him still in ignorance.
But indeed I was perplexed what to do, for
he and I were almost never alone, and in the
state in which matters were yet between him
and Fortune, it would have been premature
and even indelicate to ask Mrs. Beresford to
interfere. There was only one opportunity I
had for speaking to him, and that I lost. I
remember that day well. My father and
Fortune had gone after dinner to my sister
Kate's, expecting to be back in an hour, and
when the hour had nearly elapsed Nevill
came in alone, bringing a request that they
would return with him to spend the evening
at the Beresfords. I thought they would
soon be in, so he willingly agreed to wait; and
sitting beside me at the open window he
presently began – it was the first time he had
ever done so – to talk of Fortune. It was
strange; without a word of preparation or
introduction, he spoke of her as only one who
loved her could speak. For a moment I was
startled; then I fell into his tone, and I too
talked of my child as I could have done to
few but him. There was no explanation
between us, but each read the other's heart
fully and perfectly. And yet, not even then
did I tell him Fortune's story. I longed to do
it – it was on my lips again and again – but I
was expecting her return with my father
every moment, and I feared to be interrupted
when I had once begun. So the time went
past, and I was vexed with myself when it
was gone, that my tale was still untold.

Though it was after sunset when they
came in, Nevill persuaded them still to
accompany him back. I remember well his
warm though silent farewell to me that night.
I remember, too, when they were all away,
how long I lay and thought in the summer
twilight. I ought to have been glad, and I
was glad, but yet some low sad voice, that I
thought I had hushed to silence years ago for
ever, would awake in my heart again, making
me break the beauty of that summer evening
with my rebellious tears. It was only for a
little time, for I, who had been so happy,
what right had I to weep because some hopes
had died ? I pressed my tears back, praying
to be forgiven, and soon the soft stillness of
the night calmed me, and I thought again of
my dear child, and eagerly and hopefully as
ever I had done when I was young, I
dreamed bright dreams for her future life.
When I was young! I was but nine-and-
twenty now, yet how far back my youth
seemed! Strange; there was scarcely two
years between me and Nevill, yet how everyone
– how he, how I myself – looked on me
as old compared with him.

It was late when they came home that
night, and I thought my darling looked sad –
I had thought so once or twice of late. She
slept in a room opening from mine; and
always came the last thing to say good night
to me. To-night, when she came, I was
grieved, for she looked as if she had been
weeping. She stood beside my couch—the
light from behind that streamed through the
opened door falling on her bright, unbound
hair, and also herself looking so pure and
beautiful – my own Fortune! I kept her a
few minutes by me, for I longed to cheer
her; but she did not seem to care much to
talk. I said something about Nevill, and she
asked if he had been long here before they
came.

"About an hour," I said.

"Ah! I am glad," she answered. "I was
afraid my poor Aunty had been alone the
whole night. It was kind of him."

"Yes, he is always kind, dear," I said.

Which she did not answer, but smiled
gently to herself, and stood in silence, with
my hand in hers; then suddenly she frightened
me, for quickly stooping down she laid
her head upon my shoulder, and I felt her
sobbing. At first she would not tell me why
she wept, but whispered through her tears
that it would grieve me; that I should think
she was ungrateful – I, who had been so good
to her, and loved her so well always. But