CHAPTER XVII.
DAISY'S BIRTHDAY.
The next morning every one is on the qui vive for the postman, for is it not Daisy's birthday! and will there not be mysterious packets, from the Horton's alone, enough to fill his bag!
The excitement of receiving the presents from her own family has now subsided; and Daisy, having seen Bobby's offering, consisting of a pair of black and white rabbits, duty installed in a separate hutch improvised for the occasion, and on which is scrawled, in somewhat doubtful caligraphy, Daisy's own name as proprietress, that young lady betakes herself to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Merivale is installed (feeling a trifle stronger to-day), in honour of her little daughter's birthday. At last the postman appears, and there is a general rush to the door.
A packet from Mrs. Horton, one from each of the boys, one from Aunt Sophia, and another from Miss Denison. There is also a letter for Honor from the last named, and one for Jane. With these two Bobby is despatched to the kitchen regions, where Honor and Doris are—the former making a cake—and where Jane is also. Doris seizes on the letter, and Honor's hands being floury, opens it and reads it to her, Jane having retired into the scullery with her missive.
Miss Denison's letter is like herself—kindness throughout. Not one little incident with which they have acquainted her is forgotten, and the whole letter conveys with it such an air of her affectionate manner that it almost seems to the girls as if she were standing there and speaking to them in person. She sends good news about the recovery of her fiancé; and in order that she may accompany him in his prescribed sojourn to the south of France, they are about to be married almost immediately. Doris and Honor are still chatting over the contents of the letter, when Jane, deluged in tears, rushes into the kitchen and startles them both with the announcement that she must leave at once.
"Oh, if you please, Miss Honor, mother's been taken ill so sudden, and my sister Sarah says I sha'n't never see her alive again very like if I don't hurry off at once."
"Of course you shall go, Jane," says Honor, suspending the operation of egg-beating and rubbing her hands upon a cloth. "Of course mother will let you go by the first train there is. Poor girl!" she adds kindly, putting her hand on her shoulder, for Jane with her apron to her eyes has subsided into a chair,—"poor girl! it is indeed sudden; but doesn't your sister give any hope, Jane? Perhaps your mother may get over this attack; while there is life there is always hope, you know."
"I don't know, I'm sure, miss," returns the girl with alternate sobs and sniffs. "There's the letter, Miss Honor; perhaps you'd like to read it."
Honor does so, and finding the case more serious than she had thought it might be—being in fact the doctor's own report—she hands the letter without speaking to Doris, and making her a sign to follow, quietly leaves the kitchen.