The fire was not lighted. Hester had felt so certain that her remonstrance of the day before would be effectual, that she had not thought it needful to take further precautions. Hence it came about that Ella was seated like the day before, muffled up in a shawl, which did not prevent her looking blue and pinched, her eyes slightly reddened by tears of sympathy with her own woes, when, in answer to her rather startled “come in,” (Ella’s conscience made her cowardly of Hester) a tap at the door was followed by an unexpected apparition.
“Godmother,” the girl exclaimed, scarcely able to believe her eyes, and starting to her feet as she spoke.
“Yes, godmother herself,” said Lady Cheynes, coming forward. “But, my dear child, what are you thinking of—what is everybody thinking of to allow it?—you sitting up here in the cold on a bitter day like this? Do you want to get ill? Why it’s enough to give you a sore throat or bronchitis or a frightful cold in your head to say the least.”
“I don’t feel so very cold, thank you, godmother,” said Ella meekly. “I don’t catch cold easily, and I want to make myself hardy. I—I had some little things to do up in my own room.”
Lady Cheynes glanced at the stockings Ella had not had time to put out of sight.
“Darning stockings!—hum—can’t one of the maids do that for you? You don’t mean to say Madelene expects you to do this sort of thing. And—surely—if you do want to sit up in your own room you can give orders to have a fire lighted, can’t you?”
Lady Cheynes frowned. Ella had never seen her look so stern.
“Oh—I’m sure—Hester would have lighted it if I had wanted it. And I might have stayed down stairs only—it’s very dull,” she burst out nervously. “Papa isn’t any better to-day—he can’t leave his room, and down stairs it all seems so big and lonely.”
Ella’s voice quivered before she got to the end of the sentence; she was so very sorry for herself. Her godmother eyed her keenly.
“When do Madelene and Ermine come home?” she asked. “This afternoon, I suppose.”