With keener interest I began once more to track, from page to page, from volume to volume, the chronicled steps of limping but sure-footed justice.
Not long after this I was provided with a companion. "Clara," said my guardian one day at breakfast, "you live too much alone. Have you any friends in the neighbourhood?"
"None in the world, except my mother."
"Well, I must try to survive the exclusion. I have done my best. But your mother has succeeded in finding a colleague. There's a cousin of yours coming here very soon."
"Mother dear," I cried in some surprise, "you never told me that you had any nieces."
"Neither have I, my darling," she replied, "nor any nephews either; but your uncle has; and I hope you will like your visitor."
"Now remember, Clara," resumed my guardian, "it is no wish of mine that you should do so. To me it is a matter of perfect indifference; but your mother and myself agreed that a little society would do you good."
"When is she to come?" I asked, in high displeasure that no one had consulted me.
"He is likely to be here to-morrow."
"Oh," I exclaimed, "the plot is to humanize me through a young gentleman, is it? And how long is he to stay in my house?"