the men who for their own ends had betrayed
him into those vain expectations. At that time Althea was barely
nineteen, and I a little past sixteen; we had no brother nor other
sister.

We were then at Milthorpe; and thither our father was brought to be
buried. That was a black time for us. Though lately we had been kept
apart from our father, we loved him dearly, and we knew of no other
friend and protector. And when the funeral was over we could not tell
which way to turn; for we found our father's land must needs pass to the
next male heir, Mr. John Dacre, our distant cousin. He, I know not how,
had contrived to thrive where our father had decayed, and had gotten a
good share of favour at the new Court.

My memory offers things past to me as if in separate pictures, this and
that accident that befell us showing much more clear and bright than
things quite as important which lie between. I remember but dimly all
the sad time of our father's death and burial, the grief I myself felt,
and all the bustle and stir about us, making those days cloudy to me;
but all the more plainly I remember a certain day that followed the
funeral, when Althea and I were sitting together in a little parlour
where we had been wont to sew,--I weeping on her neck, and she trying to
turn my thoughts from my grief with planning how we two should
live,--when, the door opening, some one came briskly in who called us by
our names.

'What, Althea! what, Lucy! All in the dumps, and not a word to say to
your mother's own sister?' and, in great surprise, we looked up on our
aunt, whom we had seen but once since our mother died, when we were
quite little. She was looking kindly on us; her eyes were quick, black,
and sparkling, but had something very tender in them at that moment. I
noticed directly how plain she was as to her clothes, wearing a common
country-made riding-suit, all of black, and how her shape was a little
too plump for her low stature, while her comely face was tanned quite
brown with the sun; but methought the kind look she bent on us was even
sweeter because of her homely aspect. So I got up and ran to her,
holding out both my hands; but she took me into her arms, and kissed me
lovingly, saying,--

'Poor lamb! poor fatherless, motherless lamb! thou shalt feel no lack of
a mother while I live.'

Then, holding me in one arm, she stretched out the other hand to Althea,
who had come up more slowly, and she said,--

'And you too, my