“Is Lord Oakleigh still at the castle?”
“Yes. He has gone over to Dayton—he went yesterday—to stop till to-morrow.”
“When will he return to Oxford?”
“I don’t know. Ha! but here comes somebody that does.”
Percy turned, and his heart bounded with an impulse that shook him from head to foot. It was Cordelia Chester who had come upon the scene, the child whom we last saw with her bowed head upon the pillow of her dying father.
The promises of her childhood, so far as beauty was concerned, had, if such a thing could be possible, been more than fulfilled. The brown hair had grown darker and richer, and the eyes, gray like opals, had taken to themselves a depth of brilliancy wonderful to behold.
They were, in truth, marvelous eyes; as frank and unswerving as eyes could be, and as true as heaven. It is a strong expression, but it is true. If ever there was truth and purity on earth, the quality was mirrored in the opalistic depths of Cordelia Chester’s eyes.
She was not tall; scarcely up to the ordinary stature of woman; but she was plump and ruddy, and healthful and strong, with a native capacity for fun and frolic, yet full of practical common sense, and a wonderful faculty for business.
The earl had promised Sir William that he would take care of his daughter’s estate and look carefully after the returns of her agent, and this he had done for three or four years; but the time had come when Cordelia was able not only to look after her own business affairs, but to keep the accounts of her guardian as well. Yes, she was the business head of the castle. And who had taught her? We are to discover that immediately.
“Oh, Percy! I am glad you have come. I have got myself into a tangle from which you must help me out.”