NOTICE TO THE BINDER. The Extra Illustrations, by Eminent Artists, on Toned Paper, should be placed as follows : "LORD AYTHAN." By J. TENNIEL. "COMING THROUGH THE FENCE." By RICHARD ANSDELL, A. R. A. "COME BUY MY PRETTY WINDMILLS." By G. J. PINWELL. "HIDE A STICK IN A LITTLE HOLE." From a Picture by F. J. SHIELDS. "HIGHLAND SHEEP." By BASIL BRADLEY GRAPHOTYPE (SPECIMEN) 181 CHAPTER XXVII. BY JEAN BONCŒUR. MRS. CARMICHAEL, or rather Mrs. Gresford, had been Mrs. Howell's lodger for many years, and it was in her care that she had left Doris when she went on her sorrowful journey to Craythorpe. Mrs. Howell, too, had nursed her through the illness that came upon her after receiving Mr. Carmichael's letter. In fact, Mrs. Gresford's two friends, each a true friend in her respective sphere, had been Mrs. Chester and Mrs. Howell; so that Doris's first thought in her perplexity and distress was to flee for refuge to her mother's humble friend, who had known her all her life. It was five years since they had seen each other, for, after Mrs. Gresford removed to another village" for work," as Doris had told Joyce, Mrs. Howell was persuaded by some relatives in the eastern counties to take up her abode nearer to them. And there she had been ever since, her little school flourishing, and herself living in greater comfort than the had been able to do in the south. Mrs. Howell had been up for some time, and breakfast was on the table. She looked at the clock, and finding that it was half-anhour beyond her usual breakfast-hour, she went softly upstairs to the best bed-room, a sort of state apartment, where Doris lay fast asleep beneath a canopy of white dimity, pure and spotless as the snow outside. And counterpane and pillows were as white as the curtains, and so was Doris's pale face, quite white enough to earn the name of the snow child" that Mr. Chester had given her. "Poor lamb," said Mrs. Howell, gently disposing the curtain so as to shade her face from the light, "she looks scarce older than she did five years ago. I won't disturb her, better let her sleep on a bit." And Mrs. Howell descended to her breakfast, and ate it wondering where Doris had come from. And then, still meditating upon the subject, she took up her knitting, and knitted away, every now and then listening if she could hear sounds betokening the appearance of her guest. At length Doris's footstep was heard on the stairs, and Mrs. Howell bade her good morning. Doris was refreshed and sobered by her night's rest. She had accomplished her flight, she was tolerably safe in her hiding-place, and now what was to be her next step? She had acted so far entirely from impulse, and now she must sit down quietly and consider how far she had been right and how far wrong. And still, though she felt doubtful of the course she had taken, she felt that her impulse was true, that she had fled from something that was in some way false, though she could not understand it. She shrank from the false element, though she could not define it; she knew not what she disbelieved, but she had an intuitive perception that some No. 53. 2 ONCE A WEEK. where truth was wanting. She had, however, entire confidence in Mrs. Howell's good sense, so, after breakfast, seating herself, as she had done many a time as a child, at Mrs. Howell's feet, she told her story. She told her of the last five years; of her mother's death; of her Uncle Carmichael, of Aunt Lotty, of Joyce Dormer, and of the strange revelations of the last few days. And Mrs. Howell listened attentively. 66 'Child," she said, "are you sure that you have done right in leaving those that are kith and kin to you u?" "I don't know," answered Doris, sadly; "they didn't know me as you do, and you were my mother's friend." "And they are your mother's relatives." "Relatives," said Doris: "of what use are How he such relatives as Uncle Carmichael. can be my mother's brother I do not understand, for never were two people more unlike.' "He has taken good care of you since her death." "And why? Because he has found out about my mother's marriage; and having some spite against Mr. Lynn, he wants to revenge himself by getting the fortune from little Archie Lynn for his sister's child." "And Mr. Lynn ?" Doris shivered. "I don't feel like a daughter Mrs. Howell shook her head "I have a sister in London: she would post the letter from there.” "That will do; and I must write to Mr. Chester also. He will help me, if anyone can. Ay, that he will," returned Mrs. Howell; Mr. Gabriel is as "that's well thought of. wise as a judge, and he'll know just what ought to be done." 66 "Wiser, perhaps," thought Doris. And she wrote her letters: one to Joyce, that told of her safety without disclosing her place of refuge; another, a longer, fuller one, to Mr. Chester, telling him of all that had happened, of her doubts and difficulties, and begging him to come to her; "for, you know, dear old that my mother made Gabriel," she said, you a sort of guardian, and, as you have plenty of money, and can go where you please, do let it please you to come to the poor child,' who has fled out into the snow, and is shivering all alone in the cold world.” This latter clause was purely metaphorical, as Doris was sitting comfortably by the fireside, with Mrs. Howell blandly contemplating her from the opposite corner, and meditating, like Aunt Lotty, on the possibility of a wedding, with Mr. Chester and Doris for bridegroom and bride. snow The sun went down early, though he had not done much to fatigue himself during the day; perhaps he found it too cold for him, and his rays might get frozen on their way down-at any rate, he found it stiff and awkward work, and he was by no means on such good terms with the earth as in the jolly summer time, though he was nearer to her now. But some friends are best friends at a distance, and so it might be with the sun and He might not like her earth-who knows? so well when they were more thrown together. And when he sank to rest, the little warmth that had tried to penetrate the cold atmosphere departed, the thermometer fell to freezing-point, and the robins, hiding their heads under their wings, tried to fall asleep without any uncomfortable fears as to the We must morrow's food. The water in the pools began to harden, and even in some cold rooms ice was found in the jugs, so that, altogether, regular Christmas weather was coming on, for, somehow or other, people seem to think that Christmas is scarcely Christmas without a good hard frost. People would certainly have a seasonable Christmas this year: there was snow on the ground and it was freezing. "But you won't betray me, Mrs. Howell ?” "I might write to Joyce," said Doris, Mrs. Howell was decorating the dresser and the mantel-shelf with sprigs of holly, for it Christmas-Eve! What was Christmas-Eve. would they be doing at Green Oake and Lynncourt? |