"Certainly, dear, if you are sure that is the way Miss Stewart will come; only, remember you don't keep her waiting, as you did one day last week."
"Oh no, aunt, I shan't do that; I am never going to keep her waiting again, you'll see;" and so saying she bounded off.
Down the lawn and through the copsewood she tripped, enjoying the crisp morning air, then out upon the moor, the heather of which was turning brown, though patches of purple still lingered here and there.
Miss Stewart, who came for some hours each day to instruct her, was the eldest daughter of a minister who lived at some distance from Benvourd, and in general her shortest way lay across the moor.
Nora, after running through the heather for a minute or two, and startling a covey of grouse, who rose with a whir as she approached, stood still, and, shading her eyes with her hand, looked in the direction Miss Stewart should have come; but there was no appearance of her. She lingered a short time, then turned homewards, wondering if her governess could have taken another road. She seldom did, still once or twice she had done so.
Musing thus, she re-entered the copsewood, and stood admiring the gorgeous colours of the low trees. Suddenly a thought struck her—it would be such fun to gather a lot of the bright gold and scarlet leaves, and form them into a diadem at home with ribbon-wire, some of which she had in her work-basket. She knew she could do it, and then she would have a diadem to wear which would look just like gold and rubies. Wouldn't Eric like to see it! Absorbed in the idea, she set to work, and forgot all about Miss Stewart, and the virtue of punctuality. Alas! poor Nora, she was suddenly brought to herself by her uncle's voice—
"Nora, what are you about? Miss Stewart has been waiting for you for half an hour; you really must try to be more punctual—you will get into a habit of being late for everything."
She rose hastily, scattering, as she did so, all her gathered hoard of bright-coloured leaves on the ground. She had not a word to say for herself, and was really grieved at having displeased her kind uncle. She entered the school-room cast down and out of sorts, and quite disposed to feel that it was no use to try to attain the virtue of punctuality.
It was certainly Miss Stewart who required the grace of patience that day, for her little pupil tried her sorely. Lessons repeated with inaccuracy, music played without the least attention, and work done so badly that it had to be taken out and done over again, made up the sum of the morning's occupations; not that the child meant to give trouble, but her thoughts were wandering, now to the beautiful diadem, now to the leaves, then again to Ronald, and from him to her wish at the well, and her morning's resolutions. She became impatient at returned lessons and picked-out work, and gave way to temper more than Miss Stewart ever recollected to have seen her do; and to sum up all, she had to spend the afternoon indoors in disgrace.
It was very humbling, and Nora shed many tears about it—just when she meant to be so very good. How had it all come about? Was there no little voice whispering to her? It was because she was trying to fight a very strong enemy in her own strength. Had she altogether forgotten that it is only through Jesus we can overcome any sin?