"Yes!" "Will you see Lady Florizel abroad?" "Very likely." "Then you and she will be married," says Green Sleeves, the tears running down her cheeks; "and she will never let me sit with you, or be your little girl again." "Don't you like her, Green Sleeves?" "Yes," says the child, after a moment's miserable reflection; "but she does not like me. I heard her say to you-that day she came down here, and I was sitting beside you as you worked-'Why is not that child at school?' But you couldn't have got on without me, could you, Mr. Dick?" "No," I answer, fondly smoothing the dark rings of hair from the childish face; "but I'm not going to be married to anybody, little one-I have only one love, and that's Sieviking." "Mr. Dick, can you keep a secret?" This, after a few moments of anxious study of my face. "I'll try." "And you'll promise not to laugh?" "I promise." 66 Well, then, I'm going to do something to win back Sieviking, too. I'm going"-in a. tone of triumph-" to write a book.” "What about, Green Sleeves?" "Never you mind; but I mean to get a lot of money for it-all for Sieviking. It will help to pass the time till you come back," she goes on, wistfully; "I shall sit in your very own chair, and sometimes shut my eyes hard, and make belief I am you." The room is full of daylight now; above stairs there is a goes to and fro. sadly on my ears. stir of life; hard by, Ariel Each familiar sound strikes. How many long years will. pass before I hear them again? I draw Green Sleeves into my arms; with a sigh, her head droops forward on my shoulder; worn out by her lonely vigil, the child sleeps. Breakfast is prepared, grows cold, but still she sleeps. Ullathorne is here; the moment of departure has come, but she still sleeps on. I lay her down gently at last on the old sofa, and kiss her on the lips. . would to God I could bring back to thee, my little one, that innocent kiss, the first, last pure one I gave thee! O! simple, happy home-never simple or unhaunted to me again-why did I leave you for lust of gold? “Ullathorne,” I say, hoarsely, as we drive away, Jill's anguished farewell over, "come and see them sometimes; try to cheer them up a bit-I leave them in your hands." A fatal charge-what madness impels me to it? |