her faithful maid that, upon the whole, she rather enjoyed it; so Hitchcocks let herself be persuaded not to do martyrdom for her mistress's sake. "She has on her best gown, the green and grey, has Madam; and she has got the strange gentleman you met to-day in there for the evening," was her last whispered news. That was the final stroke. Mabel got into bed then, and hid her head under the bedclothes, as if trying to shut out all her troubles with the shadows and the darkening twilight, which she was sick of watching. She had been dreaming and thinking for days of the new life she would lead on this visit the strange adventures and wonderful happiness that would surely gild the fresh page. Why, it was even a wonder to leave home-to see all the gay young folk in the great world; while her foolish little mind had imagined so many possible deliverances from her cruel dragon of a step-mother, like fairy-tales eked out with memories of queer old-world romances. And this was the end of the first day! Even that nice ugly friend she had made, towards whom she already felt some of the affection she bestowed on her roughcoated water-dog at home, was downstairs with Madame; and he would of course learn how wicked she was, and look at her sorrowfully ever after, even as did all that lady's acquaintances. As it happened, Huntley was asking for her at that very moment. Mrs. Langton had taken the service he had rendered their daughter as the ground for making his closer acquaintance, and was now conversing in the dim twilight in low undertones with him, while poor old Miles dozed. Wat felt she was bent on captivating him; but had none the less an aversion for her, and wished heartily for his fair-haired playfellow. "Our little girl is in bed. She was too wild and shy to come in when you were here. She is such a mere child-only just going into her teens; so pray forgive her rudeness, for my sake. Ah, monsieur, I have sad trouble; a step-mother's life is one of many mortifications." As she ended, sighing gently, and looking away, Walter felt inclined to doubt her strict veracity. He thought that night with warmed feelings of the lonely little maiden who had so strangely made his acquaintance. But she was weaving dreams, in her sleep, of far other heroes than such as he of a knight of knights, stately, and tall, and gallant!-a dark, fierce, handsome warrior, whose wild prowess and daring deeds swept away all thoughts of the plain, prosaic Wat Huntley she had met by Birk Crag that day. 62 CHAPTER IV. "The woods drone A drowsy song that in its utterance dies; And the dim voice of indolent herds floats by With slow, luxurious calm. Its tune beneath the trees. The runnel hath The insect throng, Drunk with the wine of Summer, dart and dance C. NEWTON. S far back as Mabel Langton could re member, even to the most hazilygolden of childhood's memories, almost all the events of her short sixteen years had passed at Cherrybank, her home. Far, far behind in that dim time she seemed to recall a beautiful pale-faced mother, always sad, always gentle. She was nearly certain she could remember clearly her step-sister's marriage (for the first Mrs. Langton had been a widow with one daughter). Or was it only that Agnes had so often told her how she-a toddling, yellow-haired baby-had sobbed because a certain hale, ruddy-faced, but grey-haired gentleman, who seemed very old to her infant mind, was taking away her dear Maud ? Little Mab had been only up to her mother's knee then; but, in the three or four years that followed, she had grown big enough to romp with her faithful dog; to watch Dolly milking the cows, both morning and evening; or to hide among the green pea-rows, or deep down in the seeded grass of the meadow, that almost closed over her head in a delightful nest, while poor Agnes searched vainly for the charge who ought to have been in her cot. And all those months her mother drooped day by day, pining away in that ever calm, monotonous, loveless home. |