"But they took her to Germany some time ago, and that change made no difference, nor the great German doctor she was under."
"That is so, dear, still Uncle Raymond will not listen. I think it will be unwise to talk any more on the subject to him."
"Do you think then, Auntie, he will not be willing for me to have the book again until--until I am a man?"
"I fear that may be so, dear."
"Oh, Auntie!"
For a moment the grave eyes filled with tears. The next instant they were dashed away. "What am I thinking of? Error, error, begone! Love can find a way, and Love will find a way. It is quite all right, Auntie," clasping both arms around her neck.
"Just wait and see! If we are not standing 'porter at the door of thought' every moment, what a lot of wrong thoughts come trooping in."
[CHAPTER XXIII.--A LONG-DELAYED LETTER.]
That was an eventful week to Carol. Three or four days after the return of Mrs. Burton and Eloise it was his turn to open the post-bag. The daily task of receiving the post-bag, unlocking it, sorting, and then distributing the contents, was always such a pleasure to the elder children that they had agreed to take it by turns.
There seemed an unusually full bag that morning when he emptied the contents on the hall table. He collected into a little pile all the letters for the servants' hall, for the school-room, and for Mrs. Mandeville. Colonel Mandeville was away with his regiment. Quite at the last he discovered two envelopes bearing the small, neat handwriting which always called forth an exclamation of pleasure.