When Clara reached the castle she found a letter waiting for her. It was from Margaret, who was still in London, at Olympia's house.
Clara read this letter with a very thoughtful face, and went at once to Lady Carset's room, with the letter in her pocket and painful anxiety in her heart.
Lady Carset had come out of her sleep, wonderfully refreshed and cheerful.
The effort which she had so generously made to make atonement for what she considered the one mistake of her life, gave to her own heart a feeling of exquisite rest. The company of her grandchild also had let a whole burst of sunshine into that princely old castle, and its mistress seemed to have grown young in its warmth and brightness. She had been thinking of the girl ever since the sleep left her eyelids, and now, when she came in, with her sweet face clouded, the idea that had been floating in her brain took form.
"You seem troubled, Clara," she said. "Did the great, wandering old park frighten you with its loneliness? Sit down, darling, and we will talk of something I have just been thinking of."
Clara sat down on the foot of the couch, and taking the small feet of her grandmother into her lap, began to smooth and caress them with her hand.
"I am an old, old woman, my darling, and not over strong, so it is impossible for me to make a companion to you."
"Oh, but I love you so much!"
"I know, dear; but would you not like a companion of your own age—some nice young lady, who could go with you into the park, share the pretty phaeton, and help drive the ponies I have ordered for you, when I am taking my rest here?"
"Oh, grandmamma, who told you what was in my mind? how could you have guessed it? Can I—may I? Grandmamma, I know the very person!"