Christina

by L. G. Moberly

The sight that greeted Rupert Mernside's eyes, when, a few minutes later, he came into the firelit room, made a picture that lingered in his mind for the rest of his life. There were two candles on the round table, at which the child and girl sat, but the room was really lighted by the ruddy glow of the fire, whose flames leapt about the great log of wood on the top of the coals, and shed a delicious radiance all over the low, old-fashioned apartment. Some dead and departed mistress of Mrs. Nairne, had given her the oak furniture, of which the landlady herself spoke deprecatingly, as "queer old stuff," and the firelight was reflected a hundred times in the highly-polished black of the oak, and the bright brass of handles and knobs. The chintz that covered the furniture, had also come from a defunct mistress, whose taste had led her to love just those soft, dim colours, and the old-world patterns that best suited the oak of the furniture—and the whole result was supremely pleasing to an æsthetic taste. Flowers sent from Bramwell Castle, made a delicious fragrance in the air, and to the man, coming in out of the cold of a damp and foggy December afternoon, there was a peace in the atmosphere, that gave him a pleasing sense of home and restfulness.

The firelight shone full on Baba's delicately-tinted face, and golden curls; shone, too, on the dusky softness of her companion's hair, bringing out in it unexpected gleams of brightness, illuminating the girl's clear white colouring, and her sweet eyes, showing to the man who entered, the tenderness of the look that was bent on the little child beside her.

"Cousin Rupert!" Baba shrieked joyfully, scrambling from her seat, and flinging herself upon him, whilst Christina pushed back her chair more deliberately, and rose to greet their visitor. "We've cakes with sugar on them to-day, 'cos Mrs. Nairne thought you'd come to tea."

"Oh! she thought I should come to tea, did she?" Rupert answered, smiling, as he held out his hand to Christina, looking at her over Baba's curly head. The child was already in his arms, her soft face pressed against his, and his chin resting on her rippling curls, whilst he shook hands with her nurse, and said in his deep pleasant voice—

"I am glad I have just caught you both at tea, Miss Moore. Now you will let me have some tea, and then I shall hear how you both are, and be able to carry news of you to my cousin, at first hand."

Christina was far too guileless and simple of soul to read into Rupert's descent upon them, what was the actual truth—namely, that he felt impelled, as Baba's guardian, to keep a watchful eye upon the new importation Cicely had so impulsively introduced into her household; felt it indeed to be nothing more than his bare duty, to see that Baba's new nurse was all that Cicely enthusiastically believed her to be.

"Dear little Cicely's swans have before now turned out to be geese," Rupert had said to Wilfred Staynes, Cicely's brother, when he and that smart young soldier were returning from their motor trip across Sussex. "She insisted on engaging this lady nurse for the child, and practically took her without references. The references she gave us, were, to all intents and purposes, so much waste paper. The writers of them were all dead, or in the colonies."

"Cicely was always like that," Cicely's brother made reply. "She had the rattiest collection of sick and sorry animals in her youth, and of sick and sorry friends as she grew older. She has a way of stepping down into the highways and hedges, and compelling their inhabitants to enjoy her hospitality. It makes one feel one could always turn to Cicely if one went wrong, you know," he added thoughtfully; "she's always 'for the under dog,' as somebody once put it."

"Cicely is the dearest soul in the world," Rupert said quickly. "We all love her for her loving heart—but at the same time, I can't risk letting Baba fall into the hands of a stray adventuress, because Cicely's heart has been touched."

"If it's a question of adventuresses, I'll come and see the kid too," Wilfred answered laughingly. "I like the type; it amuses me. Bronze hair, green eyes, seductive manner. Oh! Rupert, my friend, if you think Baba is in the care of an adventuress, take, oh take me to call on her too!"