"And am I to find the perfection of a fire, as usual?" said Mr. Linden, taking both her hands in his and looking at her. "Little Sunbeam!—you should not have done that! Do you know what you deserve?"
She stood before him rather soberly, glancing up and down; but he little guessed what her quietness covered. Though the lines of her lip did give tiny indication that quietness was stirred somewhere. He drew her to him for a moment, with one or two unconnected words of deep affection, then turned and went away. Faith listened to hear the well known run up the stairs—the familiar closing of that door,—how strange it sounded! how gladsome, how sorrowful. She stood still just where Mr. Linden had left her, as if sorrow and joy both held her with detaining hands.
"Why child? Faith!"—said Mrs. Derrick coming into the kitchen, "what are you about? What made you get up so early, Faith? What's the matter?—breakfast ready at this time of day! Couldn't you sleep, pretty child?" she added tenderly.
"I didn't get up very much earlier than usual, mother. Don't you want breakfast?"
"Whenever you like, child," said her mother, taking hold in her turn,—"but what's made you in such a hurry? And what makes you look so, Faith?—You're not pale, neither,—how do you look?"
Faith came so close that her mother could not see, and kissed her.
"Mother, Mr. Linden is here."
"Here!" said Mrs. Derrick with a little sympathetic start—it was not all surprise, nor all joy.—"Pretty child! how glad I am! But why didn't you call me, Faith?—and why don't you go and sit down and be quiet—now you've just been tiring yourself, and I could have done the whole! And of all things, how could he get here in such weather? No wonder you're in a hurry, child!"—and Mrs. Derrick began to work in earnest.
Faith gave her the word or two more that she could give, and went to the dairy. It was Faith's domain; she was alone, and her industry fell from her hands. Breakfast and all might wait. Faith set down her bowl and spoon, sat down herself on the low dairy shelf before the window, cold and November though it was, and let the tears come, of which she had a whole heartful in store; and for a little while they fell faster than the raindrops which beat and rattled against the panes. But this was a gentler shower, and cleared the sky. Faith rose up from the shelf entirely herself again.
So busy, skimming off the smooth cream, she felt the light touch of hands on her shoulders—felt more than that on her cheek. Had the tears left any trace there?—that Mr. Linden brought her face round into view. He asked no such question, however, unless with his eyes.
"Mignonette, what are you about?"