l_ fade--and you will perhaps then die early--true to him to
your latest breath, and believing him to be true to the latest breath
also; whilst he, in some gay and busy spot far away from your last quiet
nook, will have married some dashing lady, and not purely oblivious of
you, will long have ceased to regret you--will chat about you, as you
were in long past years--will say, "Ah, little Cytherea used to tie her
hair like that--poor innocent trusting thing; it was a pleasant useless
idle dream--that dream of mine for the maid with the bright eyes and
simple, silly heart; but I was a foolish lad at that time." Then he will
tell the tale of all your little Wills and Wont's and particular ways,
and as he speaks, turn to his wife with a placid smile.'

'It is not true! He can't, he c-can't be s-so cruel--and you are cruel
to me--you are, you are!' She was at last driven to desperation: her
natural common sense and shrewdness had seen all through the piece how
imaginary her emotions were--she felt herself to be weak and foolish in
permitting them to rise; but even then she could not control them: be
agonized she must. She was only eighteen, and the long day's labour,
her weariness, her excitement, had completely unnerved her, and worn her
out: she was bent hither and thither by this tyrannical working upon her
imagination, as a young rush in the wind. She wept bitterly. 'And now
think how much I like you,' resumed Miss Aldclyffe, when Cytherea grew
calmer. 'I shall never forget you for anybody else, as men do--never. I
will be exactly as a mother to you. Now will you promise to live with me
always, and always be taken care of, and never deserted?'

'I cannot. I will not be anybody's maid for another day on any
consideration.'

'No, no, no. You shan't be a lady's-maid. You shall be my companion. I
will get another maid.'

Companion--that was a new idea. Cytherea could not resist the evidently
heartfelt desire of the strange-tempered woman for her presence. But she
could not trust to the moment's impulse.

'I will stay, I think. But do not ask for a final answer to-night.'

'Never mind now, then. Put your hair round your mamma's neck, and give
me one good long kiss, and I won't talk any more in that way about your
lover. After all, some young men are not so fickle as others; but even
if he's the ficklest, there is consolation. The love of an inconstant
man is ten times more ardent than that of a faithful man--that is, wh