A second motion of the head was the only answer my uncle obtained.
“Besides,” added the latter, “having received a good education, he can read to your lordship, or write when you wish to dictate.”
“I shall be obliged to him for it,” Lord Kysington at last replied, and he instantly closed his eyes, either because he was fatigued or that he wished the conversation to cease there; and my uncle took his departure.
I now had time to look about me. Near the window sat a young woman, very elegantly dressed, who was working at a piece of embroidery without at all raising her eyes toward us, as though we were not worthy of her notice. On the carpet at her feet a little boy was playing with toys. At first the young woman did not appear to me pretty, because she had black hair and black eyes, and to be handsome, in my estimation, was to be fair, like Eva Meredith; and then, in my inexperienced judgment, I always associated beauty with a certain air of gentleness. That which I found pleasant to look upon was what I supposed to be a goodness of heart—and it was long before I could confess to myself the beauty of this female, whose bearing was so proud, and whose look so disdainful.
She was, like Lord Kysington, tall, thin, and somewhat pale, and there seemed to exist between them a family resemblance. Their dispositions were too much alike for them to agree well, and they lived together scarcely exchanging a word, certainly not loving each other. The child, too, had been taught to make as little noise as possible; he stepped on tiptoe, and at the least creaking of the floor a harsh look from his mother or Lord Kysington would change him into a statue.
It was too late now to return to my village, but there is always time to regret that which we have loved and lost, and my heart beat faster when I thought of my humble home, my native valley, and liberty.
The following was all I could learn relative to the family I was in.
Lord Kysington had come to Montpellier for the restoration of his health, which had been injured by the climate of the Indies. The second son of the Duke of Kysington, himself only lord by courtesy, he owed to his own talents, and not to birth, his fortune and political position in the House of Commons. Lady Mary was the wife of his youngest brother, and Lord Kysington had chosen her son, his nephew, for his heir. I now began to attend to this old man as zealously as I could, fully persuaded that the most likely method of bettering a bad position was to fulfill even a painful duty.
Lord Kysington always behaved to me with the strictest politeness. A nod would thank me for every care, for every action that relieved him. One day when he appeared to be asleep, and Lady Mary was busy with her work, little Harry climbed on my knees, and finding that we were in a distant corner of the room, he asked me some questions with the artless curiosity of his age, and I, in return, hardly aware of what I was saying, interrogated him as to his relations.
“Have you any brothers or sisters?” I asked.