"Miss Chesney?" he asks, with hesitation, being mindful of his late defeat.
"Yes," smiling. "It _is_ for me, then, you are looking? Oh,"--with a thankful sigh,--"I am so glad! I have wanted to ask you the question for two minutes, but I was afraid you might be the wrong person."
"I wish you had spoken," laughing: "you would have saved me from much ignominy. I fancied you something altogether different from what you are," with a glance full of kindly admiration,--"and I fear I made rather a fool of myself in consequence. I beg your pardon for having kept you so long in suspense, and especially for having in my ignorance mistaken you for that black-browed lady." Here he smiles down on the fair sweet little face that is smiling up at him.
"Was it that tall young lady you called a "beast"?" asks Miss Lilian, demurely. "If so, it wasn"t very polite of you, was it?"
"Oh,"--with a laugh,--"did you hear me? I doubt I have begun our acquaintance badly. No, notwithstanding the provocation I received (you saw the withering glance she bestowed upon me?), I refrained from evil language as far as she was concerned, and consoled myself by expending my rage upon her companion,--the man who was seeing after her. Are you tired?--Your journey has not been very unpleasant, I hope?"
"Not unpleasant at all. It was quite fine the entire time, and there was no dust."
"Your trunks are labeled?"
"Yes."
"Then perhaps you had better come with me. One of the men will see to your luggage, and will drive your maid home. She is with you?"
"Yes. That is, my nurse is; I have never had any other maid. This is Tipping," says Miss Chesney, moving back a step or two, and drawing forward with an affectionate gesture, a pleasant-faced, elderly woman of about fifty-five.
"I am glad to see you, Mrs. Tipping," says Cyril, genially, who does not think it necessary, like some folk, to treat the lower cla.s.ses with studied coldness, as though they were a thing apart. "Perhaps you will tell the groom about your mistress"s things, while I take her out of this draughty station."
Lilian follows him to the carriage, wondering as she goes. There is an air of command about this new acquaintance that puzzles her. Is he Sir Guy? Is it her guardian in _propria persona_ who has come to meet her?
And could a guardian be so--so--likable? Inwardly she hopes it may be so, being rather impressed by Cyril"s manner and handsome face.
When they are about half-way to Chetwoode she plucks up courage to say, although the saying of it costs her a brilliant blush, "Are you my guardian?"
"I call that a most unkind question," says Cyril. "Have I fallen short in any way, that the thought suggests itself? Do you mean to insinuate that I am not guarding you properly now? Am I not taking sufficiently good care of you?"
"You _are_ my guardian then?" says Lilian, with such unmistakable hope in her tones that Cyril laughs outright.
"No, I am not," he says; "I wish I were; though for your own sake it is better as it is. Your guardian is no end a better fellow than I am. He would have come to meet you to-day, but he was obliged to go some miles away on business."
"Business!" thinks Miss Chesney, disdainfully. "Of course it would never do for the goody-goody to neglect his business. Oh, dear! I know we shall not get on at all."
"I am very glad he did not put himself out for me," she says, glancing at Cyril from under her long curling lashes. "It would have been a pity, as I have not missed him at all."
"I feel intensely grateful to you for that speech," says Cyril. "When Guy cuts me out later on,--as he always does,--I shall still have the memory of it to fall back upon."
"Is this Chetwoode?" Lilian asks, five minutes later, as they pa.s.s through the entrance gate. "What a charming avenue!"--putting her head out of the window, "and so dark. I like it dark; it reminds me of"--she pauses, and two large tears come slowly, slowly into her blue eyes and tremble there--"my home," she says in a low tone.
"You must try to be happy with us," Cyril says, kindly, taking one of her hands and pressing it gently, to enforce his sympathy; and then the horses draw up at the hall door, and he helps her to alight, and presently she finds herself within the doors of Chetwoode.
CHAPTER IV.
"Ye scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollection Embitters the present, compared with the past."--BYRON.
When Lady Chetwoode, who is sitting in the drawing-room, hears the carriage draw up to the door, she straightens herself in her chair, smoothes down the folds of her black velvet gown with rather nervous fingers, and prepares for an unpleasant surprise. She hears Cyril"s voice in the hall inquiring where his mother is, and, rising to her feet, she makes ready to receive her new ward.
She has put on what she fondly hopes is a particularly gracious air, but which is in reality a palpable mixture of fear and uncertainty. The door opens; there is a slight pause; and then Lilian, slight, and fair, and pretty, stands upon the threshold.
She is very pale, partly through fatigue, but much more through nervousness and the self-same feeling of uncertainty that is weighing down her hostess. As her eyes meet Lady Chetwoode"s they take an appealing expression that goes straight to the heart of that kindest of women.
"You have arrived, my dear," she says, a ring of undeniable cordiality in her tone, while from her face all the unpleasant fear has vanished.
She moves forward to greet her guest, and as Lilian comes up to her takes the fair sweet face between her hands and kisses her softly on each cheek.
"You are like your mother," she says, presently, holding the girl a little way from her and regarding her with earnest attention.
"Yes,--very like your mother, and she was beautiful. You are welcome to Chetwoode, my dear child."
Lilian, who is feeling rather inclined to cry, does not trust herself to make any spoken rejoinder, but, putting up her lips of her own accord, presses them gratefully to Lady Chetwoode"s, thereby ratifying the silent bond of friendship that without a word has on the instant been sealed between the old woman and the young one.
A great sense of relief has fallen upon Lady Chetwoode. Not until now, when her fears have been proved groundless, does she fully comprehend the amount of uneasiness and positive horror with which she has regarded the admittance of a stranger into her happy home circle. The thought that something unrefined, disagreeable, unbearable, might be coming has followed like a nightmare for the past week, but now, in the presence of this lovely child, it has fled away ashamed, never to return.
Lilian"s delicate, well-bred face and figure, her small hands, her graceful movements, her whole air, proclaim her one of the world to which Lady Chetwoode belongs, and the old lady, who is aristocrat to her fingers" ends, hails the fact with delight. Her beauty alone had almost won her cause, when she cast that beseeching glance from the doorway; and now when she lets the heavy tears grow in her blue eyes, all doubt is at end, and "almost" gives way to "quite."
Henceforth she is altogether welcome at Chetwoode, as far as its present gentle mistress is concerned.
"Cyril took care of you, I hope?" says Lady Chetwoode, glancing 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.