"Sir--ma'am"--said the timid, meek voice of Ann Sidley, as she held the door ajar, without presuming to look into the room; "Miss Eve--Mr. Powis."
"Enter, my good Nanny," said Eve, recovering her self-composure in a moment, the presence of her nurse always appearing to her as no more than a duplication of herself. "What is your wish?"
"I hope I am not unreasonable, but I knew that Mr. Effingham was alone with you, here, and I wished--that is, ma'am,--Miss Eve--Sir--"
"Speak your wishes, my good old nurse--am I not your own child, and is not this your own child's"--again Eve hesitated, blushed, and smiled, ere she pronounced the formidable word--"husband."
"Yes, ma'am; and God be praised that it is so. I dreamt, it is now four years, Miss Eve; we were then travelling among the Denmarkers, and I dreamt that you were married to a great prince--"
"But your dream has not come true, my good Nanny, and you see by this fact that it is not always safe to trust in dreams."
"Ma'am, I do not esteem princes by the kingdoms and crowns, but by their qualities--and if Mr. Powis be not a prince, who is?"
"That, indeed, changes the matter," said the gratified young wife; "and I believe, after all, dear Nanny, that I must become a convert to your theory of dreams."
"While I must always deny it, good Mrs Sidley, if this is a specimen of its truth," said Paul, laughing. "But, perhaps this prince proved unworthy of Miss Eve, after all?"
"Not he, sir; he made her a most kind and affectionate husband; not humouring all her idle wishes, if Miss Eve could have had such wishes, but cherishing her, and counselling her, and protecting her, showing as much tenderness for her as her own father, and as much love for her as I had myself."