had this
strange woman, dressed in a silk dress like that, to be leaning over
her in the morning, and looking at her like that--to be leaning over
her in the morning instead of her own mother, and looking at her in
that way, when she was not her mother? She shrank away towards the
other side of the bed with that nestling motion which is the natural
one of all young and gentle children even towards vacancy, but
suddenly Cynthia was leaning close over her, and she was conscious
again of that soft smother of violets, and Cynthia's arms were
embracing all her delicate little body with tenderest violence,
folding her against the soft red silk over her bosom, and kissing
her little, blushing cheeks with the lightest and carefulest kisses,
as though she were a butterfly which she feared to harm with her
adoring touch.

"Oh, you darling, you precious darling!" whispered Cynthia. "Don't
be afraid, darling; don't be afraid, precious; you are very safe;
don't be afraid. You shall have such a little, white, new-laid egg
for your breakfast, and some slices of toast, such a beautiful
brown, and some honey. Do you love honey, sweet? And some chocolate,
all in a little pink-and-gold cup which you shall have for your very
own."

"I want my mother!" Ellen cried out suddenly, with an exceedingly
bitter and terrified and indignant cry.

"There, there, darling!" Cynthia whispered; "there is a beautiful
red-and-green parrot down-stairs in a great cage that shines like
gold, and you shall have him for your own, and he can talk. You
shall have him for your very own, sweetheart. Oh, you darling! you
darling!"

Ellen felt herself overborne and conquered by this tide of love,
which compelled like her mother's, though this woman was not her
mother, and her revolt of loyalty was subdued for the time. After
all, whether we like it or not, love is somewhat of an impersonal
quality to all children, and perhaps to their elders, and it may be
in such wise that the goddess is evident.

She did not shrink from Cynthia any more then, but suffered her to
lift her out of bed as if she were a baby and set her on a white fur
rug, into which her feet sank, to her astonishment. Her mother had
only drawn-in rugs, which Ellen had watched her make. She was a
little afraid of the fur rug.

Ellen was very small, and seemed much younger than she was by reason
of her baby silence and her little clinging ways. Then, too, she had
always been so petted at home,