“No, Brownie, something prompts me to tell you now, and I will obey the call. The book of my life is almost written, love, and it will do me no harm to review it once more before it is closed forever. I have borne my sorrow alone for forty-five years, and it seems as if it would do me good to breathe it to some one who would give me sympathy and remember it tenderly when I am gone.”
Brownie’s little hand fluttered down upon Miss Mehetabel’s lips, and the tears sprang to her eyes.
“Let us not talk about it, auntie; I don’t like you to speak about going away from me. I should be desolate without you, if I had ever so much money,” and the bright face wore a look of pain.
Miss Douglas drew the shining head down to her, and kissed the sweet lips.
“Well, well, so be it, though it must come sooner or later; but we will talk no more of it now. You are very precious to me, darling, and your love has been the only brightness of my life for the past eighteen years,” she said softly. “Go lock the door,” she added, after a moment, “so that we may be uninterrupted; then draw a chair beside me, and I’ll tell you how I came to be an old maid. It may be a lesson that will do you good.”
Brownie glided softly to the door and turned the key. Then she drew a low rocker and seated herself beside Miss Douglas, while a feeling of solemnity took possession of her, as she realized that a hidden page of life was about to be turned back for her to read.
CHAPTER III
THE AUNT’S STORY
“You know who the Douglases are?” began Miss Mehetabel, bracing herself up, with a look of pride.
“Oh, yes; you have always given me to understand that they belonged to a very honorable race.”
“An honorable race, indeed! Why, child, they are the descendants of a queen—a Scottish queen! Lady Margaret Douglas was the daughter of Queen Margaret Tudor, and back to her we can trace our ancestry. Never forget it, child—never forget that you are descended in a direct line from the royalty of Scotland.”