Lilie continued to weep—too bitterly to give any answer.
Anne turned over the books—in the blank leaf of one of them a name was written in a boyish hand—”Lilia Santa Clara.” By-and-by the child’s grief moderated, and, taking up her books again, she ran to the mill to show them to Robert.
“Lilia Santa Clara,” it gave no clue to the child’s origin.
“Haill three names!” said Mrs. Melder, “if ane only kent what her father’s name was; the leddy that brought her here said only ‘Lilias,’ and I dinna mind if I askit the last ane in my flutter—and bonnie outlandish names they are; ‘Lilia Santa Clara’—to think of a wean wi’ a’ thae grand names putting Melder at the hinder end!—it’s out of the question.”
“Santa Clara may be the surname, Mrs. Melder,” said Anne, smiling at the conjunction.
“Eh! think ye so, Miss Anne? I never heard of folk having first names for their surname; though to be sure they do ca’ the English flunky that has the confectionary shop in Portoran, Thomas. Well, it may be sae.”
“Does she call herself by this name?” asked Anne.
“Ay, I have heard the words mony a time; and sae far as I can guess, Miss Anne, she maun hae been sent to yon lady frae some foreign pairt. Eh, bless me! there maun be some shame and reproach past the common, afore they sent away a bairn like yon.”
Jacky Morison was in a state of intense and still excitement—the fire had reached a white heat before they left Merkland. Barbara Genty, Mrs. Ross’s favored maid, cast envious looks at her as she sat perched in the back seat of the gig, which was to convey them to Portoran. Old Esther Fleming, who stood without the gate to watch Miss Anne’s departure, regarded Jacky dubiously, as if doubting her fitness for her important post. Jacky rose heroically to the emergency. Her faithfulness, her discretion, her true and loyal service, should be beyond all question when they returned.
From her earliest recollection, Anne Ross had been Jacky’s pattern and presiding excellence, less awful and nearer herself than Mrs. Catherine—and of all kinds of disinterested and unselfish devotion, there are few so chivalrous as the enthusiastic and loving service of a girl, to the grown woman who condescends to notice and protect her.