Hal was gone, and a cloud of woe overspread my mental
horizon.

CHAPTER IV.

OUR NEW FRIEND.

We could not object to the stay of our cousin, and she planned to remain
indefinitely. I always smiled at the relationship, and I don't know
exactly how near it was, but this I believe was it--father's mother and
Mrs. Desmonde's grandmother were cousins; that brought me, you see, into
very near kinship. She laughed at it herself, but, nevertheless, I was
"her dear cousin Emily" always. "Little Lady" was my name for her, but
she forced me call her "Clara." Her mother, it seemed, had married a
gentleman of rank and fortune of French descent, and although she told
me she was the picture of her mother, the graceful ways of which she was
possessed, her natural urbanity and politeness, together with her
fascinating word-emphasis accompanied with so many gestures, were all
decidedly French, "Little lady" just expressed it. She was, when she
came to our home, only thirty-seven years of age, and looked not more
than twenty. Her complexion was that of a perfect blonde; her hair was
light and wavy, clear to the parting; she had a luxuriant mass of it,
and coiled it about her shapely head, fastening it with a beautifully
carved shell comb. Her eyes were very dark for blue, large and
expressive; she had teeth like pearls, and a mouth, whose tender
outlines were a study for a painter. She seemed to me a living,
breathing picture, and I almost coveted the grace which was so natural
to her, and hated the contrast presented by our two faces. She called my
complexion pure olive, and toyed with "my night-black hair" (her own
expression), sometimes winding it about her fingers as if to coax it to
curl, and then again braiding it wide with many strands, and doing it up
in a fashion unusual with me. She was a little below the medium size, I,
a little above, and though only turned nineteen, I know I looked much
older than she. We were fast friends, and I could do her bidding ever
and always, for her word was a friendly law, and I am sure no family
ever had so charming a boarder. She bought gingham, and made dresses
exactly alike for herself and me, made some long house-aprons, as she
called them, and would never consent to sit down by herself but helped
about the house daily until all the work was done, then changed her
dress when I changed mine, and kept herself close, to us, body and
soul--for she seemed in one sense our ward, in anothe