‘The cross!’ said Violet, holding it reverently: ‘it is very kind of you to let me see it.’
‘Would you like to keep it, Violet?’
‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, and stopped short, with tearful eyes.
‘You know she wished some one to have it who would find comfort in it, as she did.’
‘No one will prize it more, but can you bear to part with it?’
‘If you will take it, as her gift.’
‘But just now, when I have been so naughty—so unlike her!’
‘More like her than ever, in struggling with besetting failings; you are learning to see in little trials the daily cross; and if you go on, the serenity which was a gift in her will be a grace in you.’
They were interrupted: Brown, with beaming face, announced ‘Mr. Fotheringham’; and there stood a gentleman, strong and broad-shouldered, his face burnt to a deep red, his dark brown hair faded at the tips to a light rusty hue, and his irregular features, wide, smiling mouth, and merry blue eyes, bright with good humour.
‘Ha, Percy! here you are!’ cried John, springing towards him with joyful alacrity, and giving a hand that was eagerly seized.