But between her and Miss Rothesay glided the young stranger. The bright colour paled from Christa's face—her smile passed into a frown.
“Then you are not glad to see me—you, the sole friend I have in the world, whom I have travelled a thousand miles to meet—travelled alone and unprotected—you are not glad to see me? I will turn and go back again—I will leave the house—I will—I”——
Her rapid speech ended in a burst of tears. Poor Meliora felt like a guilty thing. “Miss Manners—Christal—my poor child! I didn't mean that! Don't cry—don't cry! I am very glad to see you—so are we all—are we not, Olive?”
Olive was almost as much puzzled as herself. She had a passing recollection of the death of Mrs. Manners, and of the child's being sent to school; but since then she had heard no more of her. She could hardly believe that the elegant creature before her was the little ragged imp of a child whom she had once seen staring idly down the river. However, she asked no questions, but helped to soothe the girl, and to restore, as far as possible, peace and composure to the household.
They all spent the evening together without any reference to the past. Only once, Christal—in relating how, as soon as ever her term of education expired, she had almost compelled her governess to let her come to England, and to Miss Vanbrugh,—said, in her proud way,
“It was not to ask a maintenance—for you know my parents left me independent; but I wanted to see you because I believed that, besides taking charge of my fortune, you had been kind to me when a child. How, or in what way, I cannot clearly remember; for I think,” she added, laughing, “that I must have been a very stupid little girl: all seems so dim to me until I went to school. Can you enlighten me, Miss Vanbrugh?”
“Another time, another time, my dear,” said the painter's sister, growing very much confused.
“Well! I thank you all the same, and you shall not find me ungrateful,” said the young lady, kissing Miss Meliora's hand, and speaking in a tone of real feeling, which would have moved any woman. It quite overpowered Miss Van-brugh—the softest-hearted little woman in the world. She embraced her protégée, declaring that she would never part with her.
“But,” she added, with a sudden thought, a thought of intense alarm, “what will Michael say?”
“Do not think of that to-night,” interposed Olive. “Miss Manners is tired; let us get her to bed quickly, and we will see what morning brings.”