[CHAPTER I.]
THE WISHING-WELL.
The well was deep, and the water,
From some mysterious spring,
Was ever gushing far below
With a tender murmuring,
And deep under ground a tiny rill
Stole on in the dark to sing.
"HOW lovely it is! Only see, Aunt Charlotte! It is mine, you say? Oh, I wish I were old enough to wear it! The rubies are beautiful; how they sparkle!"
The speaker herself was a pretty sight—a blue-eyed, brown-haired little maiden of about twelve years old, dressed in a bright-coloured print frock, with a jacket to match, finished off at the neck and round the loose sleeves with a pretty crimped frill. She was standing at the moment we write of, at a window in an old-fashioned country mansion in the Highlands of Scotland, carefully poising on her fingers a beautiful diadem, composed of gold and rubies, which latter glistened brightly as the rays of the autumn sun played on them.
The lady she addressed as aunt was engaged in writing, and hardly seemed to notice the child's words; but a bright-looking boy, perhaps a year older than his sister—for such she was—looked up admiringly at the costly ornament.
"Well, it is a beauty, Nora, the gold 'specially. I wish I had it, I know—the gold, I mean, not the diadem." And he laughed as he added, "Fancy me wearing a diadem! But it suits you to perfection."
"Children," said their aunt, who had put aside the letter she had been writing and come towards the couple, "take care what you are about. Put the diadem back into its casket carefully, and then give it to me to lock up in the old escritoire. So you both like it?"
Two voices answered in one breath, "Oh, so much aunt!"
"Nora admires the rubies, but I like the gold," said Eric. "But are not they both beautiful?"