like of which not all the interest of
courts can obtain for their kings. She was tender of him, with a
tenderness that came like the touch of a soft summer wind; coming and
going, and coming again. It calls for no answer or return; only it is
there with its blessing, comforting tired nerves and soothing ruffled
spirits. Mr. Copley hardly knew what Dolly was doing; hardly knew that
it was Dolly; when now it was a gentle touch on his arm, leading him to
the tea-table, and now a specially prepared cup, and Dolly bringing it,
and standing before him smiling and tasting it, looking at him over it.
And Mr. Copley certainly thought at such times that a prettier vision
was not to be seen in the whole United Kingdom. Another time she would
perch herself upon his knee and stroke back his hair from his temples,
with fingers so delicate it was like the touch of a fairy; and then
sometimes she would lay her head caressingly down on his shoulder; and
though at such times Dolly could willingly have broken her heart in
weeping, she let Mr. Copley see nothing but smiles, and suffered scarce
so much as a stray sigh to come to his ear.

"Have you seen anything of the great people?" he asked one evening,
when Dolly had moved his sudden admiration.

"Do you mean the people at the House?" his wife said. "No, of course.
Don't you know, Mr. Copley, you must be great yourself to have the
great look at you."

"Humph! There are different ways of being great. I shouldn't wonder,
now, if you could show Lady Brierley as much as Lady Brierley could
show you--in some ways."

"What extravagant notions you do have, Frank," said his wife. "You are
so much of an American, you forget everybody around you is English."

"Lady Brierley has been only a little while come home," said Dolly. "We
need not discuss her yet."

And so speaking, Dolly brought out the Bible. The reading with her
mother had become a regular thing now, greatly helpful to Mrs. Copley's
good rest, Dolly believed, both by day and night; and latterly when he
had been at the cottage her father had not run away when she brought
her book. Alone with her mother, Dolly had long since added prayer to
the reading; not yet in her father's presence. Her heart beat a little,
it cost an effort; all the same Dolly knew it must now be done. With a
grave little face she brought out her Bible, laid it on the table, and
opened it at the fifth chapter of Matthew.

"Here comes our domestic chaplain!"