CHAPTER I. My godmother lived in a handsome house in the clean and ancient town ofBretton. Her husband's family had been residents there for generations,and bore, indeed, the name of their birthplace—Bretton of Bretton:whether by coincidence, or because some remote ancestor had been apersonage of sufficient importance to leave his name to hisneighbourhood, I know not.
When I was a girl I went to Bretton about twice a year, and well Iliked the visit. The house and its inmates specially suited me. Thelarge peaceful rooms, the well-arranged furniture, the clear widewindows, the balcony outside, looking down on a fine antique street,where Sundays and holidays seemed always to abide—so quiet was itsatmosphere, so clean its pavement—these things pleased me well.
One child in a household of grown people is usually made very much of,and in a quiet way I was a good deal taken notice of by Mrs. Bretton,who had been left a widow, with one son, before I knew her; herhusband, a physician, having died while she was yet a young andhandsome woman.
She was not young, as I remember her, but she was still handsome, tall,well-made, and though dark for an Englishwoman, yet wearing always theclearness of health in her brunette cheek, and its vivacity in a pairof fine, cheerful black eyes. People esteemed it a grievous pity thatshe had not conferred her complexion on her son, whose eyes wereblue—though, even in boyhood, very piercing—and the colour of hislong hair such as friends did not venture to specify, except as the sunshone on it, when they called it golden. He inherited the lines of hismother's features, however; also her good teeth, her stature (or thepromise of her stature, for he was not yet full-grown), and, what wasbetter, her health without flaw, and her spirits of that tone andequality which are better than a fortune to the possessor.
In the autumn of the year —— I was staying at Bretton; my godmotherhaving come in person to claim me of the kinsfolk with whom was at thattime fixed my permanent residence. I believe she then plainly sawevents coming, whose very shadow I scarce guessed; yet of which thefaint suspicion sufficed to impart unsettled sadness, and made me gladto change scene and society.
Time always flowed smoothly for me at my godmother's side; not withtumultuous swiftness, but blandly, like the gliding of a full riverthrough a plain. My visits to her resembled the sojourn of Christianand Hopeful beside a certain pleasant stream, with "green trees on eachbank, and meadows beautified with lilies all the year round." The charmof variety there was not, nor the excitement of incident; but I likedpeace so well, and sought stimulus so little, that when the latter cameI almost felt it a disturbance, and wished rather it had still heldaloof.
One day a letter was received of which the contents evidently causedMrs. Bretton surprise and some concern. I thought at first it was fromhome, and trembled, expecting I know not what disastrous communication:to me, however, no reference was made, and the cloud seemed to pass.
The next day, on my return from a long walk, I found, as I entered mybedroom, an unexpected change. In, addition to my own French bed in itsshady recess, appeared in a corner a small crib, draped with white; andin addition to my mahogany chest of drawers, I saw a tiny rosewoodchest. I stood still, gazed, and considered.
"Of what are these things the signs and tokens?" I asked. The answerwas obvious. "A second guest is coming: Mrs. Bretton expects othervisitors."
On descending to dinner, explanations ensued. A little girl, I wastold, would shortly
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