"But she was not Penelope," said the girl, wonderingly. "Oh, aunt, what does it all mean?"
"But we always called her Penelope in fun, because she was such an indefatigable little worker. Oh, what a darling she was, and how we all loved her!"
"But what became of her?"
"Well, my dear, you see, after she and her father went back to America, we rather lost sight of her—she and my mother had a little misunderstanding. It is all a long time ago, and your grandmamma and my dear brother are both dead. Nora may be gone as well, but I seem to see her now just as she stood, laughing gayly, with this screen in her hand. Oh, where can she be? Where did Lion find it? I feel as if I must know."
Penelope felt as if she would dearly like to solve the mystery of her cousin Lionel's present. She went back to the breakfast table very grave, and so preoccupied in manner that she had to explain herself at once; and then all the young people were fired by the story. What did it mean? Penny grew absolutely mournful trying to understand it, but it was finally resolved to write to Lionel, who, in a few weeks at least, would let them have the history of the screen, so far as he knew it. This was all that could be done at present.
Penelope and her aunt were only visitors at the Deanery. Their own home was ten miles distant from Nunsford. There Penny was mistress of a beautiful old home known as The Manor. Miss Harleford had been for years as a mother to the girl, and although her uncle, the Dean of Nunsford, was her legal guardian, she knew no heavier rule than the gentle old lady's. If there could be needed a complete contrast to poor Nora Mayne, it might have been in the petted heiress of Harleford Manor. Every one tried his best to make her life happy, and I think only her natural loveliness of disposition saved Penelope from being completely spoiled.
The letter to Lionel Harleford, Penelope's second cousin, who had just gone to India, was dispatched at once, and for days Aunt Letty talked over old times with her brother and nieces. The Dean only half remembered the beautiful, bright American girl who had visited his mother's house, now Penelope's, twenty years before; but Miss Harleford recalled so many scenes to his memory that he was soon as eager about Lion's letter as the most romantic member of the family could desire. Many conjectures were put forth, many ideas suggested; but who could guess that not half a mile away the once light-hearted Nora Phillips lay poor and dying!
Meanwhile things continued to sink lower and lower with Nora and her mother, the worst feature of their case being the fact that kind-hearted Mrs. Bruce could no longer keep them; her son James had suddenly appeared, and declared himself horrified to find his mother keeping lodgers who could not pay their rent; and so, with many tears, poor Mrs. Bruce had broken this news to Mrs. Mayne.
"Of course we must go," said poor Nora, looking at the tender-hearted landlady with a white face and set lips. "Oh, Mrs. Bruce, I know it isn't your fault, and if the day comes when I can earn anything, you shall be paid."
Mrs. Bruce wept bitterly the day that saw Mrs. Mayne, still weak and ill, leave the house with Nora, whose brave heart was tried to its uttermost. Where were they to go? Nora could not be sure enough to tell even Mrs. Bruce. She had sold the last of their wardrobe that morning, and as Mrs. Bruce refused to take a penny from them, they started forth with money enough to pay somewhere for a week's lodging.