ever
heard. How I loved to sit at her feet when she came to the cottage, and
look up into her pale, calm face; and when she stooped down to kiss me,
and her glossy ringlets mingled with mine, I would fling my arms about
her slender neck, and whisper in a voice too low for my stern mother
and Dinah to hear:

"'I love you a thousand, thousand times better than anything else in
the world. Oh I how I wish I were your own little boy.'

"Then the bright tears would flow fast down her marble cheeks, and she
would sigh so deeply, as she returned with interest my childish
passionate caresses.

"Ah, Geoffrey, my childish heart spoke the truth. I loved that
high-born, noble woman, better than I have since loved aught in this
cold, bad world: at least, my affection for her was of a purer, holier
character.

"My mother was taken home to the Hall, to act as wet nurse to little
Margaret; and I remained at the cottage with my harsh, cross
grandmother, who beat me without the slightest remorse for the most
trifling faults, often cursing and wishing me dead, in the most
malignant manner.

"My father, whom I seldom saw (for his occupation took him often from
home, which was rendered too hot for comfort, by the temper of his
mother-in-law), was invariably kind to me. When he came in from the
stables he would tell me funny stories, and sing me jolly hunting
songs; and what I liked still better, would give me a ride before him
on the fine hunters he had under his care: promising that when I was
old enough, I should take them airing round the park, instead of him.

"My poor father! I can see him before me now, with his frank,
good-natured face, and laughing blue eyes: his stalwart figure, arrayed
in his green velvet hunting-coat, buckskin breeches and top-boots; and
the leather cap, round which his nut-brown hair clustered in thick
curls; and which he wore so jauntily on one side of his head. Roger
Mornington was quite a dandy in his way, and had belonged to a good old
stock; but his father ran away when a boy, and went to sea, and
disgraced his aristocratic friends; and Roger used to say, that he had
all the gentlemanly propensities, minus the cash.

"He doted upon me. 'His dear little jockey!' as he used to call me; and
I always ran out to meet him when he came home, with loud shouts of
joy. But there came a night, when Roger Mornington did not return; and
several days passed away, and he was at length found dead in a lonely
part