“Mr. Emlyn wants to know how far you have got in ‘Numa Pompilius.’ Come and answer for yourself.”
“Oh, those tiresome grown-up people!” whispered Lily, petulantly, to Kenelm. “I do like Mr. Emlyn; he is one of the very best of men. But still he is grown up, and his ‘Numa Pompilius’ is so stupid.”
“My first French lesson-book. No, it is not stupid. Read on. It has hints of the prettiest fairy tale I know, and of the fairy in especial who bewitched my fancies as a boy.”
By this time they had gained the gate of the burial-ground.
“What fairy tale? what fairy?” asked Lily, speaking quickly.
“She was a fairy, though in heathen language she is called a nymph,—Egeria. She was the link between men and gods to him she loved; she belongs to the race of gods. True, she, too, may vanish, but she can never die.”
“Well, Miss Lily,” said the vicar, “and how far in the book I lent you,—‘Numa Pompilius.’”
“Ask me this day next week.”
“I will; but mind you are to translate as you go on. I must see the translation.”
“Very well. I will do my best,” answered Lily meekly. Lily now walked by the vicar’s side, and Kenelm by Mrs. Cameron’s, till they reached Grasmere.