"Oh, Jane!" said little Cecile, "the purse! the Russia-leather purse! I think I'll die, since Aunt Lydia Purcell has found the Russia-leather purse."
"Well, tell us the whole story, child. It do seem a wonderful thing for a bit of a child like you to have a purse of gold, and then to keep it a-hiding. I don't b'lieve as you loves gold like Miss Purcell do; it don't seem as if you could have come by so much money wrong, Cecile."
"No, Jane, I didn't come by it wrong. Mrs. D'Albert, my stepmother, gave me that Russia-leather purse, with all the gold and notes in it, when she was dying. I know exactly how much was in it, fifteen pounds in gold, and forty pounds in ten-pound Bank of England notes. I can't ever forget what was in that dreadful purse, as my stepmother told me I was never to lose until I found Lovedy."
"And who in the name of fortune is Lovedy, Cecile? You do tell the queerest stories I ever listened to."
"Yes, Jane, it is a very queer tale, and though I understand it perfectly myself, I don't suppose I can get you to understand."
"Oh, yes! my deary, I'm very smart indeed at picking up a tale. You tell me all about Lovedy, Cecile."
Thus admonished, Cecile did tell her tale. All that long sad story which the dying woman had poured into the child's listening ears was now told again to the wondering and excited cook. Jane listened with her mouth open and her eyes staring. If there was anything under the sun she dearly, dearly loved, it was a romance, and here was one quite unknown in her experience. Cecile told her little story in childish and broken words—words which were now and then interrupted by sobs of great pain—but she told it with the power which earnestness always gives.
"I'll never find Lovedy now; I've broken my promise—I've broken my promise," she said in conclusion.
"Well," answered Jane, drawing a long breath when the story was over, "that is interesting, and the queerest bit of a tale I ever set my two ears to listen to. Oh, yes! I believes you, child. You ain't one as'll tell lies—and that I'm gospel sure on. And so yer poor stepmother wanted you not to let Lydia Purcell clap her eyes on that purse. Ah, poor soul! she knew her own sister well."
"Yes, Jane, she said I'd never see it again if Aunt Lydia found it out. Oh, Jane! I did think I had hid the purse so very, very secure."