[CHAPTER XXII.]
It was a beautiful night, bright with moonlight and starlight, and sweet with balmy air and the breath of fragrant flowers. Leonora sat at the window and silently drank in the sweet influences of the balmy night. She would have liked to go out, but she did not suggest it, for fear of shocking her aunt.
"Are there any old ruins about here, Aunt West, and any pretty scenery?" she inquired, presently.
"Oh, yes; there are the old Abbey ruins, about two miles from here. They are very pretty and picturesque. Artists go there to sketch, and picnic parties to frolic. Devonshire is a very pretty place, anyhow. A great many people come here to make pictures."
"So I have heard," said Leonora. "May I go there some day—to the Abbey, I mean—and make a picture, Aunt West?"
"You, child? Can you sketch?"
"A little," demurely. "Indeed I have some talent for it. I have drawn some little things good enough to sell."
"Can you, really?" cried the housekeeper, in surprise.
"Yes, indeed," said Leonora, smiling. "To-morrow I will unpack my trunks and show you some pictures I did last year—some in California, some in New York State, some in Virginia, and some in West Virginia."
"All those places?" said Mrs. West. "Why, my dear, you must have traveled a great deal."