CHAPTER IX.
THE GUEST-CHAMBERS.
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Deserted rooms of luxury and state, Which old magnificence had rudely furnished With pictures, cabinets of ancient date, And carvings, gilt and burnished,—Hood. |
The carriage drew up at the foot of a flight of stone steps, leading to the front entrance of the house. The double oak doors stood wide open, showing the lighted hall and a group of people waiting.
Sybil looked eagerly from the carriage window.
“I do declare,” she exclaimed, “if there is not, not only Miss Tabby, but Miss Libby and Mrs. Winterose besides; Mrs. Winterose,” she explained, turning to her guest, “is the widow of our late land steward. She is also my foster-mother, and the mother of the two maiden ladies, Miss Tabby, who is our housekeeper, and Miss Libby, who lives with the widowed parent at home. They have come to welcome us back. Heaven bless them!”
As Sybil spoke, Mr. Berners dropped down from his perch on the coachman’s box, and opened the carriage door.
He assisted first his wife, and then their guest, to alight. And then he took the sleeping child from the nurse’s arms, while she herself got out.
“You know the way, dearest Sybil! Run on before, and I will take charge of our fair friend,” said Mr. Berners, as he gave his arm to Mrs. Blondelle to lead her up the steps.
But Sybil had not waited for this permission. Too eager to meet the dear old friends of her childhood to care for any one else just then, or even to feel a twinge of jealousy at the words and actions of her husband, she flew past him up the stairs and into the arms of her foster-mother, who folded the beautiful, impetuous creature to her bosom, and welcomed her home with heartfelt emotion.