"Oh, mother, mother!" she cried in an agony of grief, "why did God let you die? Oh, I never, never can be happy without you!"
She wept until her head ached, feeling utterly friendless and alone in the world. Life seemed so dark and dreary, and she dreaded the future with her grandfather and Uncle Guy. Thoroughly exhausted at last, she flung herself by the side of the bed and prayed, and by-and-by comfort came to her, as it surely comes to every soul that holds communion with God.
The next morning she breakfasted with her grandfather. She was far from being at her ease with him, for she was conscious he was observing her closely, and that made her unusually shy and awkward. Her hands trembled so much with nervousness that she spilt some drops of coffee on the spotless table-cloth, and she was so overcome with confusion at the sight of the ugly, brown stains, that the tears rose to her eyes, and she had some difficulty in retaining her composure.
"Never mind, child," Mr. Renford said, noticing and pitying her embarrassment, "that's nothing. Why, you're actually shaking! What a nervous little creature you seem to be!"
She was very thankful when the meal was over. Afterwards her grandfather sent her to fetch her hat, and informed her he was going to take her for a walk. Accompanied by Lion they went down the carriage drive, and ten minutes later found them at the front door of the Vicarage, which was opened by the Vicar himself.
"I saw you coming from my study window," he explained. "Mary and the children are in the kitchen garden gathering raspberries for preserving. Come in and I'll send for them. This—" and he bent his gaze on the little girl as he spoke—"is, I suppose, Felicia?"
"Yes," Mr. Renford answered; "she is very like her father in features, you will see."
The Vicar took Felicia's hand and pressed it cordially. He had dark, near-sighted eyes, grave and kindly in expression, and Felicia returned his smile with one so frank and bright that her grandfather was surprised at the difference it made to her face—hitherto she had seemed on the verge of tears.
Mr. Pring led the way into the dining-room, and there they were presently joined by his wife and little daughters. Felicia decided she would like her aunt, who greeted her with a warmth and goodwill which touched her sorrowful heart, and her cousins expressed themselves glad to see her, too, especially Molly, who sat down by her side and entered into conversation with her at once.
"Do you think you will like living at the Priory?" was the first question Molly asked.