Sunshine.
As we went down into the handsome dining-room I seemed to be in a dream, in the midst of which I heard Miss Carr’s voice telling the servant he need not wait; and as the door closed she laid her hand upon my shoulder and led me to the front of a large picture of a very beautiful woman, standing with her arm resting upon the shoulder of a grey-haired massive-looking man, not handsome, but with a countenance full of intelligence and force.
We stood silently before them for few moments, and then Miss Carr spoke:
“Can you tell who those are, Antony?” she said.
“Your papa and mamma,” I said, looking from the picture to her face.
“My dear father and mother, Antony,” she said, in a low, sweet voice; and her lips moved afterwards while she stood gazing up at them, as if saying something to herself.
I remember feeling well satisfied that I had on my best clothes that morning. I had reluctantly taken to them, but my others had grown so bad that I had been obliged. Then, too, there was a feeling of gratification that my hands were clean, and not stained and marked with ink. I remember feeling that as I took up the snowy table-napkin. All the rest was so dreamy and strange, only that I felt quite at home, and troubled by no sense of awkwardness. Moreover, Miss Carr’s behaviour towards me, as she intently watched my every action, became more and more warm, till it seemed to me as if I were in the society of some very dear sister; and a couple of hours later I felt as if we had known each other all our lives.
Upstairs once more she played to me, and smiled with pleasure as I picked out my favourite old pieces from the various operas; and at last she swung herself round upon the music-stool, and rose to draw my arm through hers, walking me thoughtfully up and down the room.
“What should you like to be, Antony?” she said half-playfully, “a soldier?”
“There’s something very grand about being a soldier,” I said thoughtfully, “when he fights to save his country; but no, I’m afraid I should be a coward.”