When her aunt went down about her household duties, she laughed to herself at the thought of outwitting those two—her cold-hearted aunt and her cruel father. The thought of their surprise, when they should find her gone in the morning was pure delight.
“There he goes now. I wish he would go and stay forever!” she cried, petulantly, as she heard the gate-latch click, and springing to the window, saw her father walking away into the gloomy distance.
She sat down and watched him out of sight, adding:
“He is very handsome and noble looking, and if he had treated me better, I should have learned to love him well. But now I hate and fear him, and I would die before I would go with him to-morrow. Dear, dear [Arthur], I hope nothing will prevent him from taking me away to-night.”
And while she was moping, her aunt came up with a magnificent bunch of roses, saying kindly:
“Cheer up now, Cinthy! Here’s a splendid big nosegay for you, and a box of French candy. I ’spose your pa sent it, because he went down into the town a while ago, and said he’d get you a present.”
“I don’t want any of his presents! Take them away!” Cinthia answered, angrily.
“Don’t be a little fool, Cinthy. I’m getting out of patience with your airs,” Mrs. Flint returned, severely, putting down the gifts and slamming the door as she stalked out.
Cinthia loved flowers dearly, and the scent of the roses wooed her to caress them presently, burying her face in the fragrant red and white beauties.
A note hidden among them scratched the tip of her nose, and she drew it out with a cry of wonder.