ke their day happy. She had
never before ventured into the world, and did not know how common and
universal is the custom of picking to pieces those with whom we have just
been associating; and so it pained her. She was a little depressed, too,
with the idea that she should never see Mrs. Buxton and the lovely Erminia
again. Because no future visit or intercourse had been spoken about, she
fancied it would never take place; and she felt like the man in the Arabian
Nights, who caught a glimpse of the precious stones and dazzling glories
of the cavern, which was immediately after closed, and shut up into the
semblance of hard, barren rock. She tried to recall the house. Deep blue,
crimson red, warm brown draperies, were so striking after the light
chintzes of her own house; and the effect of a suite of rooms opening out
of each other was something quite new to the little girl; the apartments
seemed to melt away into vague distance, like the dim endings of the arched
aisles in church. But most of all she tried to recall Mrs. Buxton's face;
and Nancy had at last to put away her work, and come to bed, in order to
soothe the poor child, who was crying at the thought that Mrs. Buxton would
soon die, and that she should never see her again. Nancy loved Maggie
dearly, and felt no jealousy of this warm admiration of the unknown lady.
She listened to her story and her fears till the sobs were hushed; and the
moon fell through the casement on the white closed eyelids of one, who
still sighed in her sleep.

CHAPTER III.

In three weeks, the day came for Edward's departure. A great cake and a
parcel of gingerbread soothed his sorrows on leaving home.

"Don't cry, Maggie!" said he to her on the last morning; "you see I don't.
Christmas will soon be here, and I dare say I shall find time to write to
you now and then. Did Nancy put any citron in the cake?"

Maggie wished she might accompany her mother to Combehurst to see Edward
off by the coach; but it was not to be. She went with them, without her
bonnet, as far as her mother would allow her; and then she sat down, and
watched their progress for a long, long way. She was startled by the sound
of a horse's feet, softly trampling through the long heather. It was Frank
Buxton's.

"My father thought Mrs. Browne would like to see the Woodchester Herald. Is
Edward gone?" said he, noticing her sad face.

"Yes! he is just gone down the hill to the coach. I dare say you can see
him c