“I tell you there are no lairds in America, Janet!” said the lady, impatiently.
“Well, on the gentleman’s knee, ma’am.”
“Very well, now come help me to dress.”
Janet hastened to obey, and in half an hour Rosa Blondelle issued from her chamber, looking if possible even more beautiful than she had looked on the previous evening; for she wore an elegant morning robe of white cashmere, embroidered down the front and around the bodice, sleeves, and skirt with a border of blue bells, and she had her splendid hair dressed in the simple natural ringlets that were the most becoming to her.
Janet walked before her mistress, to show the way. Far up the great hall, she opened a door on the left-hand side, admitting the lady to a delightful front room, whose front windows looked out upon the lake, the valley, and the opposite range of mountains.
It was a golden October morning, and from a cloudless deep-blue sky the sun shone down in dazzling splendor upon the valley, kindling up into a conflagration of living light all the variegated foliage of the trees, upon the mountain sides and the river’s banks, where the glowing crimson of the oak and the flaming orange of the elm mingled with the royal purple of the dogwood and the deep green of the cedar. And all this gorgeousness of coloring was reflected in the lake, whose waters seemed dyed with all the prismatic hues of the rainbow.
“‘Black Valley,’ indeed!” said Rosa Blondelle, with a smile, as she entered the breakfast-room and glanced through the windows upon the magnificent scene; “‘Black Valley,’ call you this? I should rather call it ‘Bright Valley.’ Oh, what a glorious day and oh, what a glorious scene! Good-morning, Mrs. Berners. Good-morning, Mr. Berners. Little Crow, this kind gentleman is spoiling you,” she said, as she advanced with smiling eyes and outstretched hands to greet her host and hostess, who had risen from their chairs to meet her.
They both received her very kindly, even affectionately, and as they had waited only for her presence to have breakfast, Sybil now rang and ordered it to be brought in.
Sybil’s own little “high chair” had been rummaged out from its corner in the lumber-room and dusted, and brought in for the use of the baby-boy; who, in honor of his mother, was permitted to sit up to the table with the grown people.
“But why, I repeat, should you call this glorious vale the ‘Black Valley’?” inquired Rosa, as they all gathered around the board.