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Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul cliche, il est filmd d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche i droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la m^thode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 ii.i: ill 'ill; rill «l -r . ir'^Jj' i ,1 rfvv ' Tlu' ol I iniii lliimku I llu' cliild a^ >ln' liiuidcil him tin- m<»iu'\. 'iiu't' only way. Oh ! he hoped that Violet would bo ^ood to them. She was so fond of the world and its gaieties, her home so filled with company coming and going through most of the year — she herself so taken up with the thousand and one things that enter into the life of a woman of fashion — that there would not be much time left for those three little maids. Still she was most kind, he knew, and before many years Daisy would be old enough to take charo;e of the others. Dear Daisv — " little Dame Durden " he sometimes called her — sucli a contrast to Maida, the merriest of all merry madcaps 1 He smiled at the thought. There was only a year between those two, and Daisy was now twelve. Maida had been the most demonstrative in her grief at first, — there was nothing to be done but let the storm wear itself away — and now, when they were but two days out, she was the brightest of all. Such was her buoyant nature. T he other [18] I » 'i JHTERS. throat, for liiiixof tllG liildreii of York— he :m\y way. (1 to them. lieties, her md going so taken that enter hat there ose three he knew, Id enough Daisv — ailed her ;rriest of thought. LOse two, had been at first, b let the len they ghtest of he other TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. were (|uieter : they reminded him of the "still NViitrr.s." lint the Baby ! she was but seven, ir it were not for old Madolon, ho thought, she would have stayed with him. Yet what could he do with a child on those con.stant voyages of his / It oould not be ! No, it was out of the (juestion ; and ho continued to pace up and down in deep perplexity. By and by he fancied he saw u small dark figure making its way across the slippery deck, now holding on to the railing, now steadying itself by a dock-chair, — yes, it was coming towards him. "Who is this?' he called. " Daisy, father," she answered. "Are you alone ? " " Yes, dear, come on ; but it's very late and cold." " I could not rest below, father, and 1 thouirlit I'd find you. Maida and Gwyneth are sound asleep, so some of us are not troubling you," she said apologetically. " You are no trouble, darling ! " he answered, " but I'm afraid to have you come to me up here at night ; you mustn't do so again. Now, [19] TKKVHLYAN'S LITTLE h Al'(J>lTERS, ^ though, you may stay a little while, for 1 have a few thiiiuld have — bright, or after- the ship aiice the e, white L a little h jacket. rUEVELYAN S LITTEE DAL'UHTEJIS. " I'll try to be cheerful, father." "Do, dear, I cannot hear to .see you look so unhappy, or Haby — you know what 1 moan. To-morrow we must try to cheer them up a bit, won't we ? And another thinir, Dai.sy, when you reach Aunt Violet's you nia}' not always Mnd it smooth sailin*;, not alwavs. I know .she is most kind : but you tlire(3 children will be often alone with old Madelon, 1 fancy, and if there .should be any storms, little capfuls of wind, darlin4,^" he said, trying to see her face in the dark, "you must be brave, and think fii'st of Maida and Baby." " 1 11 tr}', father," the child answered, with a half stifled sob, " I'll think of you out here, in a different storm, perhaps ; and — and, anyway, we have had the worst storm we can have, dear father." "I know," he said, "I know," and bracintr back his strong square shoulders, turned, put his arms around her, and carried her safely below. " Remember, to-morrow we must be brighter," he said, as they parted with many a fond good-night. [21] CHAPTER III. 1 Old Madelox had been a servant in the house of Antonio Renjgeoletto when he brought his dead brother's children home. 81ie loved them, and hated and feared their uncle. Many times during the years she had lived with the old man she might have married and gone away ; but, with a noble devotion, she stayed on and made them as happy as she was able. It became her life's business to outwit the old notary whenever she could, to get ahead of him if she might. She grieved for the boy Raphael when he ran away to .sea, and never ceased to look for tidings of him from the sliips that came into the Bay of Naples. Many a summer evening had she spent amonfj; the foroiirn sailors, comino- in or goint; out of port, asking of one and all some word of the lad ; but none of them could tell her of him. And time went on. When the young Prince Charming came to carry away her beautiful mistress, Madelon, [22] le house ght his id them, ly times old man Ely; but, id made ;ame her '■henev^er 3 might. 1 lie ran •r tidings e Buy of ihe spent 3r going word of r of him. came to Madelon, TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTEllS. then a woman of sixty, went with them. She could not bear the tliought of parting, and so slie, too, sailed upon that happy voyage. After a year passed they went to England to the hon>f^- stead of the Trcvelyans in Cornwall. It had long been closed, this old picturesque ivy-covered house, for death had come there, and many chano-<>.s. Roses red and white swung ao-ainst the small diamond-paned windows, and looked in at the empty rooms. Lilacs knocked softly, with perfumed plumes, at the doors ; around about trees grew close and heavy, and the place seemed like a nest from which the birds had tlown. But voices were heard echoing through the quaint rooms again, and the windows were thrown 0})en to the sun. There Daisy was born, and her motlier grew to love the place passion- ately. By and ])y came Maida and Gwyneth, and in the sea-girt isle of ideal homes was no sweeter one. When its doors had to be shut again — when news came that the chiklren were to go to New York — old Madelon said quietly, " I nuist go, too," so here she was with them. Thus far on the voyage the poor old nurse had been unable to leave her stateroom, and Captain [ 23 ] ■HH TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS, ''-Si- Trevelyan had had all the responsibility of the the care of his little daughters, who, fortunately, were good sailors. Thev were on deck with him whenever his duties permitted it, wrapped in dark ulsters, and with curls Hying from under their " Tarns." All three were lovely — Daisy with serious dark face ; Maida, like Daisy, only she was never still, and had many dimples. They were like their mother, both of them, true daughters of the South; but Baby was simply a small feminine edition of her father. Her eyes were the color of the sea, and as changeable ; and as for her hair, everybody said it was a wonder, so it must havo been. Her mother had thought it the most beautiful thing in tlie world, and as for her father, well, it was too much like his own for him to say what he thought; but while his was close and curly, Gwyneth's floated about her in a golden cloud. Once their mother had said to Madelon, "They are my three Graces." Old Madelon had looked at them a moment, and then replied in her own tongue, " When they grow up they will be three Fates '. " [24] ti:r8. 7 of the mately, ver his ulsters, lams. as dark 3 never ire like iters of , sijiall es were and as vonder, ought and as ke his t while about "They oment, ' When THEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUC^ITERS. On the next morning Daisy remembered what her father had said, and tried to talk more brightly to the little ones wliile they were dressing. " Do try, Gwyneth, not to look sorrowfully at father to-day — no, that way, the way you're looking now, darling," she said, as Baby's lips l)et, and it may be them; but thini;s won't be that ('(ilni as they 'ave been.'' And in this mood of solenui consid'jration he took himself below. When everythin^^ was (piite ready, on the day before Captain Trevelyan's steamer was expected, Violet Van Norman sat op])osite her husband at hmcheon. He was vuisually silent, she tiiought ; his mind appeared to be concGntratei;.?-.-3caa:g;«aMiw>.-=?gi.rT^-wrrT.- >,^>-,*,_ — „„ TllEVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS. speaking to the others turned to Gwyn and said, " I'm liere, too, Miss Gwyneth." She kissed him more shyly, and so tlio ice was broken, and after that they began really to know each other. Aunt Violet took Daisy and Maida and seated them, one on each side of her, while Gwyn sat with Van Xorman on her right and the Major on her left. She turned from one to the other her lovely face, and when they spoke to her, answered in very friendly fashion. " Have you had a nice day of it, Daisy ? " asked Van Norman. " Oh, yes, indeed, delightful, Uncle Edwin ; we have been sleigh-driving, you know." " And we went miles and miles," added Maida. "You have such a beautiful sleigli, and to-day the horses just flew." " I'm glad you enjoyed it," he answered. " And what did you see in New York that you liked best this afternoon, Miss Daisy ? " inquired \Villoughb3\ "Oh! the rink, Major Willoughby," said Dais}^ " The rink in Central Park ; so did Maida, too. It was just charming to see all the people skating." [50] THEVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS. " You shall skate, also," said Aunt Violet. " To- m^^rrow we will start to learn," " Thank you, Aunt Violet," they answ^ered. " But you, Gwyn — what did you see that you iiked best?" asked Van Norman again, turnino- towards the child. " It was something we heard — not something we saw — I liked best, Uncle Edwin," she said soberly. " Sometliinii- vou heard / Now what could that have been ? " looking at her curiously. " Well, as we drove down Broadway, I think it was, there was an old Italian man, so dark, Hke Madelon, and he had an organ on wdieels. A boy, a very nice boy. Uncle Edwin, w^as pull- ing it for him. The boy was older tliaii Daisy, two or three years," slie said thoughtfully, then })aused. " Yes ? " said Van Norman. " Well," she continued, " they stopped just where our sleigh did, outside of the shop. Aunt Violet went into the shop, you know, and they commenced to play. They played ' God Save the Queen ! ' " Then she looked up into Van Norman's face with a little tremulous smile. [511 TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE DxVUGHTERS. " Ifc makes one feel very strange to hear anyone play ' God Save the Queen ' when you're in a foreign country," she said. Major Willoughby arose. " It does, Miss Gwyneth," he said, "rather! I have felt +^-t way myself. I propose a toast : The British National Anthem." So Wilkinson filled up the glasses, and they stood. Baby and all. Van Nor- man clinked his glass lightly against hers, and looked down with grave eyes as he drank. [52] CHAPTER VII. A FEW days after tliis, Mrs. Van Norman came into the nursery, where the children were busy threading necklaces of beads. The day was dread- fully stormy,and they had given up all thought of going out; so when, after luncheon. Flitters hrought in a box of most fascinating blue and wliite beads for them to thread, they were very happy indeed. Maida strung hers into rings, and had lier little fingers loaded up with the shining things. Daisy and Gwyn were stringing theirs into long chains, and tliey were all very much engaged when their aunt came in. " These are beautiful beads, Aunt Violet ; I just love to see the rings on my fingers," said -Maida. "Little Vanity," replied her aunt, laughingly. She was very fond of Maida : they understood each other best, she thought. [ 53 ] -r;T^-,-K--a-'T~-f,-«;- ]awM»rf«awraftTfc..'rr;k-g6ifcma*' > TREYELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. " Now, come with me," she said, taking hold of Baby's hand ; " there is something in Dainy's room for you to see." " You are very kind to us, Aunt Violet," said Daisy. " Is it something; nicer than these beads ? " asked Baby. " Well, I think so," her aunt answered. On going mto Daisy's room, they found three long boxes on the floor, and opening them, saw they were filled with wiiite dresses. *' Look at them, darlings! " cried Aunt Violet, " are they not lovely ? I do not want you to be in black all the time, but in white, like three white doves. There are white serges for the morning, and cashmeres and flannels for the afternoon; then just see those white India silks, so soft and fine — they are for the evening, when you come to dessert, and Uncle Eddie is there, you know." Maida gave a long sigh of delight. " Oh, I never, never saw anything like them ! What made you think of it, Amit Violet, dear?" " Well, put one on, then," she answered. " This one," as Maida commenced to remove her dress. [54] J TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. " I won't call Flitters or Madelon, but will just help you myself." " You, too, Daisy," she said. Daisy was standing very quietly watching ]\Iaida. " If you really want me to," she answered. " Yes, dearie, I want you to, of course. Your father said I might get these white dresses. Why, where's Baby ? " glancing around. " Was she not hero a minute ago V " Perhaps she went back into the nursery. Aunt Violet. Shall I find her ? " asked Daisy. " I'll go with you," Mrs. Van Norinan replied. They found her with her little hands clasped behind her back, standing looking out of the oriel window. She stood very still. " Gwyneth, dear, I want you to try on one of the white dresses ; Daisy and Maida are going to put on theirs now. Come, dear." She turned and looked at Mrs. Van Norman, and her eyes were filled with tears. " Thank you, Aunt Violet," she said, " Imt I will not wear them. I will wear my black frock." Her voice was gentle, but quite firm. She looked, as she said it, very much like her [55] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. father, Violet thought — absurdly like. Wlmt should she say to her next ? " Why, Gwyneth, Daisy will, and Maida will ; don't say that you won't, darling." The little figure turned again and looked out of the window ; she just shook her head quietly. Mrs. Van l^fonnan went over, put her arms around the child, and kissed her twice. " You need not," she said ; " I don't want to trouble you for the world," Then, as her eyes rested on the golden hair, shining against the black dress, a thought struck her. " Never mind, anyway. Baby, I think perhaps black is all right ; your hair looks so wonderful against it. Such hair ! " she said again. Gwyneth glanced up quickly. " I was not thinking of my hair, Aunt Violet ; but I am sorry if I was naughty." Afterwards, when she was helping Daisy and Maida to dress. Baby being with old Madelon, Mrs. Van Norman put the cover on the box that held Gwyneth's dresses. " Does slie often say ' I will not,' Dais}^ ? " she asked. [50] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAFCHTERS. " I do not remember when she c\'er said it before,'" Daisy replied. Tluit evening Mrs. Van Norman told the story to her husband. They were alone, and he lis- tened and smoked in silence. " You have not had that said to you for many a day, Violet," he said in a moment, looking at the charming figure with half amused eyes. ^ "Not for many a long day," she replied, laughingly. " Not even by you, Edwin." The man went on smoking thoughtfully, then leaned over the fireplace, knocked the ashes out of his pipe, and laid it down. " I like a .strong will," he said, as he rose to leave the room. M [67] CHAPTER VIII. The children spent many liours alone with Madelon. They already had a governess, who came in the morning and left after luncheon. She was a middle-aged English lady, and they were quite happy with her, for she made their lessons interesting, and grew fond of them. In the afternoons they w'ent out, sometimes with Mrs. Van Norman, sometimes with old Madelon and Flitters ; and when they came home there w-as always the delightful white room to go to — a place entirely their own. If it were stormy, they w^ould gather round the tire, while Daisy read or told them fairy stories ; she could tell very nice stories, they thought. These were generally about maidens in distress, or princesses kept by fierce and awful giants in gloomy towers, built in inaccessible regions. Often the towers were surrounded by green and fiery-eyed dragons, whose mildest expression [58] TREV ELY AX'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS, of countenance was enough to chill the marrow in one's bones, and make the hair of the head rise upon end, absolutely refusing to resume its proper position. To have one of these guardians of the peace gaze upon you in any other than his mildest \vay was to cause you to flee, and never to leave off fleeing, till far, far beyond his range of vision, and in a place of safet}'. Indeed, for such a gentle little maiden, Daisy had a most vivid iinan-ination. To all the unhappy damsels in her stories — whether they were princesses or not — invariably came a deliverer. He it was who, alone and single- handed, overthrew the horrible dragons : he it was who scaled the tower walls : he it was who, in spite of blood-thirsty giants, carried the princesses away to their own homes, where all was happiness and endless joy at their return. Now, strange to say, this brave and true knight was always the distressed maiden's brother. One Saturday afternoon Daisy had just fin- ished a thrilling tale of this description, and they were sitting talking the story ove-'. [ '^^9 ] I TirEVELYAN'8 LITTLE 1) AUOIITERS. " I tliiiik, ])ais3'', you made tlie brotlier even nicer to-day than usual," said Maida. Daisy nodded. " I do tliink of lovely brothers," she answered. " Daisy," said (iwyn presently, " if that little baby in all the pictures had lived he would have been our cousin." " He is our cousin now, Gwyn," Maida re- marked, in her (juick way. " Yes, Maida, dear,, I know," said the child gcntl3\ " But he's not here now ; he's away." Just then Flitters came in. " Miss Daisy, would you and Miss Maida and Miss Gwyncth like to hear one of those big organs ? " she asked, " Wilkinson says there's a good one out on the street now — he knows the tunes — shall I tell the man to brini:: it around ? " " Oh, yes, Flitters ! thank you," they all cried eagerly, and ran over to the great window, where they stood watching for the organ to make its appearance. It came up and stopped. An old sad-faced Italian turned the handle, and by him stood a boy of about sixteen, who had helped to pull the cart. [60] Tin:VKLYAXS LlTTl.E I) A IMUITP^RS. " Oil, Daisy, do look ! " .said Baby, with a little joyful cry. " It's my boy, the one I told you of. It's the oi'o-an that played ' VnA Save the Queen !' Oh, I am so glad it's that organ, so veiy glad, indeed." Tiiey listened entranced to ' Liberty Bell," to " My Pearl, She's a Bowery Girl," to the "McGinty" who insisted upon going to the bot- tom of the sea and staying there in utter dis- regard of his best suit of clothes; to the " Little Alabama Coon," and the " Water-melon Smiling on the Vine," all of which were charmingly new and fresh to them. After those were played came the one they waited for, " God Save the Queen." However Her Majesty's i^ational Anthem got in amongst those jocular airs the maker of that organ alone knows. Probably he liked the tune, but did not know the words. " Do you admire the ])oy, Daisy ? " asked Bal)y, when she had been listening for a while with sparkling eyes, her slippered foot beating on the floor. " Do I admire him ? " said Daisy, " I should [61] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUnHTEUS. tliink I do ; I don't know when I've seen such a nice l)oy ; lie reminds nie of somebody." " Mr. Barton ? " sut^gcsted iNIaida. " No, not Mr. Barton. Oli, no." " Well, he don't remind me of anybody," re- liiarked Baby, " but I thiid'C if he were dressed in blue and silver he would be just like one of the brothers in Daisy's stories. Now he's touching his cap ; do you see his curly hair, Daisy i Are they going. Flitters?" turning* to the maid be- hind, "because we must give them some money, you know. May I go --^,^--.ia^^^-,-^\,'^.^ ^ ^f^ ^ ^^ TIIEVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS. one person in all my life who was not afraid of lions." '*'Oo might that be, Miss Gwyneth^" he asked, curiously, looking down at the little lass, as he held the library door open for her. "Why, Diiniel, Wilkinson," the child replied, gravely, as she passed into the room. *' Daniel ! " said the old butler, as he was left standing. " Why, certainly, of course ; but 1 thought she were agoin' to say the Dook of W'^ellington, or 'E'uy Stanley. It's strange she likes that room at this time of the hevening. It's 'ardly time to light the lamps there yet, and the place is that full of shadders and glinnners from them poet chaps ; and that old howl 'as the hevil eye if liever a bird 'ad. Talk about the raven wot (juothed ' Nevermore,' — 'e just sits there alookin' it." After a few minutes Van Norman came in, and entered his library. He paused a moment at the door, listening to the sounds of music an<] lauffhter across the hall. He was too tired to mix with that glad company, too world-worn and weary, he thought. No gaiety had been his during the early years of his life, to him had [68] TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. conic no lieydey ; tliere lind been no liours to spare for pleasure, no halcyon hours when he was youn^r and the blood beat hifrh through his fresh boy's heart. Now, when he could rest on his oars, having won the harbor of wealth and ease, it was too late— too late to enter into the spirit of the thing, at least, he said to him- self: so he turned into the room of shadows beyond. " Ah, Gwyneth, dear ' " he exclaimed, seeing the golden-haired maiden standing upon the lion-rug. " You seem fond of being in here alone with my poets." " And you, Uncle Edwin," she said, smilingly, " won't you stay ? " " Would you like me to ? " " Oh, yes, very much, unless you would rather be in the drawing-room," she added, (quickly. " Not I," he replied : then, seeing the ivory figure she held, " Why don't someone get you a doll ? That is not one, is it :' or isn't it dressed ?— it looks odd, anyway." " Oh, no, he isn't a doll," with a little laugh. '' he is St. Patrick." [69] Tia:VELYAN'S LITTLE 1) AlTMITEllS. " 8t. Patrick I " exclaimed lier uncle, " why, how did he come your way ? " " Oh," she replied, " Brady gave him to me. Brady is a sailor, a common sailor, one who goes up the rigging', you know : he used to spin us yarns coming over, about the great seas away up north. When we said good-bye to him he gave Daisy a queer gold coin, Maida a string of most lovely, lovely coral, and this to me. I am very fond of this little saint, L^ncle Edwin. Daisy says he has a history ; any wa}^, Brady told us he bought him long ago to take home to his little girl, but she was dead, when he reached home — so," after a pause, " he gave him to me. Molly Brady's birthday was on the seventeenth of Marcli, and Brady was very pleased when I told him that mine is, too." " And your birthday is on the seventeenth of old Ireland, is it ^ " he asked. " Yes, Uncle Edwin ; on ' St. Patrick's Day in the Morning.' Father says if I had been a boy he should have had to name me after the saint. I sometimes think he would have liked that," she said, thoughtfully, "Anyway, Daisy and [70] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. Maida would liave had a brother, and that's wliat we're alwa3^s wanting." " I tliink your fatlier and Daisy and Maida are very Uicky to have you as yon are," remarked lier uncle, looking at the child's sensitive face. " You are very kind to think so. Uncle Eddie," slie said, " very ! " Then she went across to a small table upon which lay a violin case, and, touching it gently, turned and looked at her uncle. " Is there a violin in this case. Uncle Edwin ? " " Yes," he answered. " And does anyone play on it { " eagerly. " Yes, someone does, sometimes," said Van Norman. " You, I believe " sniiUno- at him. " When there are no professionals around." She took the case up very carefully, and car- I'ied it over to him ; he watching her the wliile. "There are none around now," she said, with pleading eyes, "please, Uncle Edwin ! " He took the instrument lovinnflv out of its silken-lined case, drew the bow lightly across it two or three times, and began to play. The divine melody of " Traiimerei " lloated [71] TIIEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. through the room. 'J'lie man was perhaps not a master of his art, but he loved it, and the violin knew him and answered to his touch. On and on swept the music, that air the whole world knows. It rose and fell, rose and fell, while Gwyneth stood gazing with pale, spell-bound face, and when the last exquisite notes trembled off the strings, her lashes were wet with tears, and she gave a long, long sigh. " There is no need of other listeners," thought he, " with such an audience as this. Well, little one," he said, gently, " have I made you sad i " " Not sad, Uncle Edwin, no ; but I was think- ing of my mother — perhaps she hears that kind of music now, she did so love the violin. Old Madelon has brought one with her that used to belong, years and years ago, to my uncle — my little uncle that ran away to sea, you remember. He used to play the violin wonderfully — wonder- fully, Madelon says ; that is why my mother loved it so. And when they left Italy Madelon brought with her the violin that he used to play. She said his cousin Antonio Reggeoletto gave it to him, but he did not take it when he [72] TJIEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. ran away. Madelon In-ou^rht it, tliou^^h. t^oiiie- tiiiie, she says, he perhaps will play on it again. She calls it a Cremona." " A Cremona ! You will let me see it, won't you, and soon ? But, Gwyneth, dear, I must dress for dinner— I should say I must," lookincr at the clock ; " Bishop Salisbury dines with us to-nifrht ; it would never do to keep my Lord Bishop waiting. Golden Locks ! " " Will you come down to me and my poets again ? " he asked, opening the door for her. "I will come to-morrow afternoon, Uncle Edwin," she answered, looking into his eyes. " I will be with you then, sure," and he stood for a moment or two M'atching the little maid go up the stairs. [73] CHAPTER X. They were waiting for their xatlier from day to day, and now Daisy was growing anxious. His steamer sliould have reached New York some time before ; but they had received no news of him, and the ships coming in all told of rough, belated passage. V^an Norman said he would have the earliest word from the docks, and when she was sighted he would telephone. Aunt Violet gave them but scant time to think ; she knew what a strain their childish natures had already borne, and so, for their father's sake, tried to keep them bright and con- tented. She wanted him to find them happy — happy as she could make them. Still Daisy was troubled — that could be seen ; her face had no coloi', and beneath the dark eyes were shadows that Mrs. Van Norman could not bear to see. [74] TllEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAL' OUTERS. " I wonder it* she lias been sleeping well, Madelon ^ " she asked. "All! madam,' answered the old nurse, "she lias the look of her mother when the voyage was long and liis ship made great delay. Last night, madam, I went through their rooms soft, soft ; I made not to awaken them. Maida slept, and my Baby slept : but Daisy, she was awake, " ' Is that you, dear Madelon { ' she say. "'Yes, my lamb,' I answer, 'why you sleep not V " Then she gave a little cry. ' Madelon ! Madelon ! do you hear the wind V she said. ' How can I sleep ; how can I sleep ? ' " So I sat myself upon the side of the small bed. and told her the story, madam — the story that is for all sailors, and for those that love them — of how He made ilie sea to be calm; of how He made the wind to go down ; of how He brought them to the haven where they would be" — raising her wrinkled face to where the (^ood Shepherd stood in all His beautiful tenderness — " to where they would be," she repeated. " ' I know, Madelon, He is able, most able, so to do, but some ships — some ships never reach the [75] THE VKL VAN'S LTTTI.K I) A UO IITKUS. lii; land. You remember,' she said, 'my I^ncle llapliael Kt\i;'geoletto. ^\y motlier waited, l)ut he did not return !' " I could hardly my voice find, dear madam, to make answer; still I would not leave my child so. I didrememher — I do remember — my dear lad, that in the year so lon^ a<,^() sailed, and did not come back ; but I have the hope, madam, I have always the hope — here in my heart," her voice breaking, " when all have forgotten and say that he is lost, I have the hope that I, old Madelon, will some day find him. And so I looked into her anxious eyes. ' Margarita,' I said — Ave do not ol'ten call her so, though that is her name — ' Margarita, thy father is in the care of Him who holds the sea in the hollow of His hand : thou canst trust Him, mv sweetheart ! And as for thy uncle, Raphael Reggeoletto, do not take from me the hope I have so long kept that I will see him again ; 1 wait and hope.' " " Dear Daisy !" said Mrs. Van Noi'man, " she is too young to bear anxiety of this kind ; perhaps it is only because she has hardly recovered from the shock of her mother's death that she is so [70] TKFCVKLYAN'S UTTLH I ) A IMi NT K KS. easily fri^litoned. You do not think, Mudolon, that she is ilW" as th(; })ossibility struck lier. " Tliero is no (hin^-er — we think of no dan,rt. People come to him at the office with all sorts of tales of woe, and he won't let the clerks turn one away without some a.ssistance ; at least, that is what Mr. Brownino-, an old gentleman who has been for 3'ears with Uncle Edwin, once told me." " That is very kind of him," she said again. Baby leaned over, with parted lips, as thougli slie were going to speak, and then stopped. Her little face had a most intense expression, and her eyes \vere soft and shining. " What is it, Gwyn ? " asked Mrs. Van Norman. " I love him," the child answered : " I love him very, very n.nch. ' They all smiled at that, and she wondered why. Everything was extremely gay at the rink ; and when Dai.«y and Maida, hand- in-hand, were movino; over the ice with the rest, Mrs. Wn Xorman and Baby drove away, leaving the tall and digniiied Sinuners to take care of them. Maida already skated well : Daisy '.vas grow- [ 70 ] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERH. ing steadier each day, and botli were wildly enthusiastic over the exercise. Simmers listened with inward deliizht and outward stoniness of feature to the many pretty thinf^s said witliin his hearinnf of his two charfres. Simmers and the Sphinx miglit have vied with each otlier as to which was able to give tlie least expression of emotion upon their respec- tive countenances. Simmers' face had probably stood the greater test. He had many a time and oft been placed in positions under which the ordinary footman liad been obliged to look somewhat human or expire. But Simmers did neither. His reason might totter on its throne, inward convulsions might seize and rend him, but, outwardly at least, he would be as the laws of the Medes and Persians — changeless and unalterable ; and by this metallic calmness of expression he stood or fell. Now, as he watclied the bjwitching little figures ily past him, saw their sparkling eyes, their floating curls, and the bright color coining and going in their olive-tinted faces, by some process, unknown to mortals in general, he gave vent to an inwanl nnd invisil)le smile. When [80] THEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS H<,r 10 ve Ml thev skated In' they iiiVcariabh' turned their heads and gaily nodded to liim. " Tliem two are no ordinary ones,"' he said to himself, " and the small one, Miss Gwyneth, some day she's agoing to make a sensation, that's what it is I " And so, altogether, Simmers enjoyed himself nearly as much as the children did. By the time the little skaters began to grow tired, Mrs. Van Norman returned, and they went home together in almost a merry mood. " I was dreadfully unhapp}^ about father last night," said Daisy, " but things h)ok so different by daylight. I feel certain that he will come to morrow. Don't you. Aunt ^''iolet ? " " Yes, I think he will, Daisy, dear," answered Mrs. Van Norman. But when the message reached them, half an hour later, saying that Captain Trcrel^'an's steamer had been sighted, each knew by the relief she felt how ixreat had been her fear. In the nursery old Madelon sat listening to the fresh, unspoiled voices of the little ones, and thoughts came to her of her own far-off youih, when the whole world liad seemed young, [81] TTiEVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. and grim care and weary old age things to hear of, never to know. By and by Baby went over to the window and stood looking out. A light snow fell softly and the day was closing in. She waited there quietly a long time, with her hards behind licr back, in a quaint fasliion she hid. Daisy knew by the way the fingers clasped and unclasped that the child was trying to be patient over something. " You look just as though you were watching for somebody, Gvvyn," said Maida, dancing across to her ; " but you don't know anyone in this city to look for, unless it is Uncle Edwin oi- Major Willoughby." " I am watching for someone," she answered ; " but it isn't Uncle Eddie or the Major ; not but what I would like to see them both, of course." " Who are you looking tor, then ? " glancing curiously up and down the street ; " father may not be here for hours ; you know how long it takes them to get in sometimes." " Yes, Maida, dear, but it isn't father. I'm thinking of him nearly all the time, tliough," she added, by way of afterthought. [82] TREYELYAN « LITTLE DAUGHTERS. " Why don't you tell me, Baby '■. I can't bear to be kept waiting* when 1 want to know any- thing," her sister answered, impatiently beating a tattoo on the glass with her little brown hands- " It isn't a secret, surely '. " " I believe I see him now 1 ' cried Gwyneth. " Yes, yes ! " Then turning to Maida, and noting the exasperated expression on her face — " My "tfiu&'ic boy, you know. 8ee, they are coming! It is Saturday he comes, always, I'll be very glad to see him." " Oh, so will 1, but I'd t'orgotlen every single thing about him," said Maida, Liughingly. "I don't forget ])eople when I like them, Maida," replied the child. In a short time they came along, the weather- beaten old man and the beautiful boy. They pulled the heavy cart slowly, for the roads were rough. When they stopped under the oriel windoNV, l)oth looked up and took otftlieir caps. The children watched and listened. Old Madelon sat Ijy, knitting at the perpetual stock- ing, that was sometimes toe, sometimes heel, sometimes leg, but had been in transition st iges ever since Daisy was born, and before, if she [83] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. liad but known. They all regarded it as a friend ; it seemed to them as much a part of Madelon as the cap and apron she wore. The light glanced on her silver needles, dancing up and down and over them. She nodded her head to the music, and seemed to dream. " Call Flitters, Gwyn, I want her to tell me the names of tlie tunes as he plays them. We don't knoM' any American songs," Maida said. Flitters came, and as the tunes were rolled out she called o(t' their names. " Don't you lo\'e it, Gwyn ? " " What, Maida ? The music ? 1 wasn't think- ing so much about the music as the boy." " He is an awfully nice boy ; there wasn't one boy on that rink to-day as good-looking." "Do you like hi.s eyes, Maida ? " asked Baby. " Indeed I do : they are perfectly beautiful ! " she answered. " Yes," said Daisy, " 1 think they are, too." " Do you like his shoulders, Daisy ? " inquired Maida, later. " Oh, yes, of course, anyone would ; they are exactly like father's, I think, only that father's are so much broader." [64] TREVELYAN'S I.ITTLE DAUGHTERS. [red I are jr's " I wish," said Baby — then slie stopped. The organ had got as far as " Tlie Alabama Coon " b}^ this time, and they thought tliat slie was enjoying that delightful southern melody — " I wish," she said again. " What do you wish, Baby ^ You s^'em to want somebody to ask you," laughed Maida. " Do you wish they would pla\' it again ? I don't think they can. I think when it starts it h 3 to go right through them all without stopping." "Oh, it isn't that, I like the next nearly as well ; but I wi-h that boy — look at him smiling up at us Dais}' — yes, I wish that boy were our brother. Truly, I do" " Why, Gwyneth Trevelyau ! " exclaimed Maida, while Daisy gazed at hor with eyes very wide open, and Flitters laughed. " Why, (hat boy is the music organ man's boy ; if ivc had a brother he would have to be a gentleman. He is awfully nice to look at, but how does he speak ? " " I know — I have heard him — Ijut Daisy, doar, tvhat iff a gentleman ^ " Then without waiting [■w] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS — for she saw tliev Nvore throurrh nlavinjx — " Dtii.sy, the m(mey ; I liaven't any this time."' " Neither have I," said Daisy. " I had a shilling," said Maida, "but I spent it, oh, quite a long time ago." Old Madelon took a silver coin out of hei* pocket, and held it out — " Giv^e the man this, my children," slic said. " No, thank you, Madelon, I remember I have something. Quick, Flitters, get my hood, please ; I will go down, too," said Gwyn, running into her ov n room. " What have you got, Gwyn ? " asked Maida, as she came out and waited for Flitters. " Fd rather not tell you, Maida," the child replied, gently. " I know 1 " cried Maida, when the two had disajDpeared. " It's the tiny gold dollar father gave her such a long time ago, and that's her own, I suppose ; but isn't she a funny little thing, though ? " Daisy did not answer, and old Madelon went on knitting — and as she knit she smiled. [86] CHAPTER XL "MADELON/'said Baby, " will you please look at me ? " " Yes, my lamb ; what is it { " asked the old nurse. " Is my dress all ri^rht, and my pinafore ^ " pulling out the ruffles on her shouWers, " and my hair ? " " Why, yes, dear, you look very nice ; do you i^o anywhere ? " " Only down to the library, nurse," startincr away, " so good-bye." "She's always going down t(j the library, Daisy, at this time of day ; and it's as gloomy and forlorn in that room as it can be. It's ever so much nicer up here, with the lovely colors on the floor. It's all violet splashes under your chair now," said Maida. "I suppose she likes it for some reason," answered Daisy, going on with her book ; " one of these days I'm going with her myself." [ 87 ] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. " At tliis time to-inorrow, Madelon, father will be here," n-lanciiig' up at the old nurse. " Thou wilt be ^lad then, my little one," answered the old woman. When Van Norman entered his library at half-past six o'clock, he found (jiwyneth waiting-. He saw the look of expectanc}^ on her face as the door opened, and caught the brilliant smile that followed : it was answered by one of his own, one of the kind worth rememl)erin«)^. " We have half an hour," he said. " Have we, Uncle Edwin ( As lonn^ as that ? " " Yes, quite, for Aunt Violet is making a most elaborate toilet. \^ou must see her wlien she is dressed, for she will be very pretty. You like pretty things, don't you, Gwyn ? " " Oh, yes!" replied the child, " and Daisy and Maida and I always just love to look at Aunt Violet." " What have you been doing to-day i " he asked, as she sat down on an ebony stool beside him, and leaned her golden head against the arm of his chair. Above the mantel luing the baby s picture, and in the uncertain light the dimples seemed to come and go on the sweet child face. [88] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUCHITERS. " What have I been doint,^ i " she said ; " let me see. This morniny; we luid our lessons : I don't have such long ones as Daisy and Maida, you know. When mine were Hnished, Aunt Violet's dachsliund came into the nursery, and we played together. It upset Maida a good deal — she could Jiardly goon with licr Fi'ench. You knoAV Fritz is funny when he stands and just looks at you ; his short litile front leg.s are bowed round, like this," lixinix her hands together in a circle, and laughing — "and he is so long, so dreadfully long ! He should have tlirce pairs of legs, we think. Uncle Edwin." " I am glad you like him," said the man, enjoy- ing the sio-ht of her bright face and childish voice. " I do like him very mucli, indeed," — then, on second thouo-ht — " and he likes me." " I can quite understand that," gravely. " Uncle Edwdn ! " she asked, then paused and leaned forward, clasping her two little hands. " Yes ? " he answered. " Uncle Edwdn, what is a gentleman ? " " Why ! " he said, looking rather surprised at the question, " have you met anyone lately that you thought was i^yt a gentleman ? " [89] IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 "illlliM 1125 '■ iM 112.2 .. m 1.4 2.0 1.8 1.6 6" <^ / ^m j^ /A Photographic Sciences Corporation m V 4^ o % .V iV" ^ V 'i?." 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4S03 i/j s •Tfmmm TREYELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. " Oh, no," raising her eyes to his quickly, "oh, no * but it's iny music-boy, tlie one I told you of, you remember. He oame to day with the old Italian and the organ, and we were talking about him — Daisy and Maida and me. We admire him very much," she said, sweetly. "I would like you to see him, Uncle Edwin," " Well ? " he ashed, as she stopped. " You see," she went on, " I said I wished he were my brother, for we have always been wish- ino^ for one — alwavs. Then ^laida lauo;hed, and said he was only an organ-man's boy ; that our brother, if we had one, \vould have to be a genllemau. He seemed to me like a gentleman," she added, seriously. Van Norman rose, walked over to the mantel, turned his broad back to it, as was his custom, and stood looking at her. There was an odd expression in his eyes. " Gwyneth, dear"' — his voice not quite steady — " a gentleman is one who is faithful, honest, gentle and brave — a king could be no more," he said. The ashes dropped from the heavy logs, the shadowy room was still. Then Simmers entered [90] ISIw'i^ 'Sill- ii(l\iiii(t'(l to tliu onitie iif till- loom, ami (Iropiti'd thru deep ami most elalKinite cuitsev ." Pa^i' 91- I' I f if: ™ TREVELYANS LITTLE DAUGHTERS quietly and lit tiie tall red-shaded lamps, and down the stairs came the rustling of silken per- fumed garments. Mrs. Van Norman paused at the library. " Announce me, Wilkinson," she said, in a low voice, "as the Duchess of Devonshire." The door was Hung wide open, and — " 'Er Grace, the Duchess of Devonshire ! " cried the old butler, in his most ponderous tones. They turned toward the door and beheld a beautiful little figure, all shining and glistening from head to toe. Her powdered hair was puffed and rolled, and upon her shoulders lay softest curls. A hat of generous proportions, befeathered and beribboned, was tilted sidewise on the bewitching head, and around her square- cut tiffht-sleeved bodice was crossed a ticliu of richest lace. Here and there upon it trembled small diamond butterflies. She advanced in stately fashion to the centre of the room, and holding wide her dainty skirts, dropped them a deep and most elaborate curtsej'^ ; then rose, and throwing the tail of her gown over one arm, stood with folded hands, smiling at them sweetly — a counterpart of the famous picture. [91] uyjyjL asasm TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. " Oh, Aunt Violet ! " exclaimed Baby. " How lovely you look ' How lovely ! Are all duch- esses like that ? " " You are cliariiiing," said Van Norman. " It is for the Schuyler's fancy ball, I suppose ; but are you not d"essed early ? " " Earlv for the ball, of course, but the Ruben- stein Club have an eight o'clock musicale, and there will be a number in fancy dress. You will go to the musicale with me, won't you ? And now, do be a little enthusiastic over my dress — please, dear ! I don't care what the rest say, you know," turning so that he could admire her from all points. " Indeed, it is very dazzling ! That silver effect on the pink is like frosting ; and the butterflies on your shoulders seem as though tliey might fly at any moment. By the way, the butterflies are not consistent witli the costume, are they ? " " No, not really ; it is a case where consistency is not a jewel ! " she answered, laughingly ; " but they were so pretty I had to wear them." He seem;3d amused, but went on critically, looking down at her tiny silver slippers with their shining buckles : [92] TREVELYAN\S LITTLE DACGHTERH, "The slioes match perfectly, and your hair, sweetheart, is really wonderful : A masterpiece, a veritable masterpiece ! " " Thanks, Eddie, awfully : I think you have ((uite taken me in, and I dofy other critics." So, gaily chatting, they all moved towards the dining-room. When they reached the stairs, and as Gwyneth started to go up to the nursery, Van Norman held out his hand. ' Are we going to be good friends ^ " he asked. " For always, Uncle Edwin," said the child, looking down at him; and she stood thus watching them till he and the gay little Luchess disappeare'l knew, a woman who had been watching them and talking to Daisy — a clever woman, well- known amongst musical and literaiy people of the city — went over to Mrs. Van Norman. " Do you know, Violet," she said, " those children are very charming, very exquisite." " I am glad you find them so," Mrs. Van Nor- man answered, " we think they are." " There is no doubt about it ; and their pro- nunciation is something unusual, is it not ? — somewhat foreign, a^id yet with such a fine broad English 'a.'" " Their mother was Italian, you know," re- plied Mrs. Van Norman, " and did not speak English until after she was married. I often notice they have insensibly copied her words." " They are unusual in other ways ; try to keep them as they are, Violet," said her friend. Mrs. Van Norman lauo-hed. " I do not think they will change. You have not met my brother, Captain Trevel^^an, I believe ? No ! And you did not know the r mother ? " " No, I did not, unhappily," ansv^'ered the other, " but I should have liked to. I have missed something, my dear, indeed I have." [100] iiil CHAPTER XIII On Saturday, about ten days after this, Van Norman entered his library as th.' clock struck the quarter past fiv(\ He was tired, for many things had crossed his path that day to trouble and annoy him, and the lines between his eves as he threw himself heavily into a chair, were deep and forbidding-. " Such a day it has been," he said to himself, iialf aloud, "even the weather, the least of all things, bad." He usually came in later and found Gwyneth waiting for him, but to-day the huge dark room seemed intolerably lonely. He drew a long sigh, then felt in his coat-pocket, and took out what appeared to be a cablegrani. " Will not leave with my steamer. Hunting- ton in charge. Have word from estate of Reg- geoletto that both are dead. Go to Naples direct. Will write. "John Trevelyan." [ 101 ] 1 i i'i!^ TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. The man looked at it long, then folded it up and gazed ahead with unseeing eyes. " That means one thing," he thought, " the estate of Reggeoletto goes to the children of Margarita Reggeoletto; they are the only living heirs. Jack would not have touched it, I firmly believe, unless he had been told by his wife that the original fortune belontjed to her grandfather, and that Antonio had in some way and by some unfair means absorbed the whole, so that her father was left nothing : it is theirs by right now." He leaned his head wearrilv against the chair. " Oh, gold," he said, " oh, the struggle for it 1 Hard to get, heavy to hold — it is true, it is true." Beside him that da}^ upon the Stock Ex- change had stood a man many years older than himself, rich — as the world counts it — one who was in every daring speculation of the times, whose hand had grown unsteady from hours and weeks of protracted nervous strain. They had been talking together when a telegram was brought in and given to his friend. He saw him read it; saw his suddenly whitened face, and caught him as he fell. [102] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTER.S. " Too far, Van Norman," he heard him faintly say, "TOO FAR— this tlmp;" then all was over, and the heart, tried beyond its power of endur- ance, refused to beat. V^an Norman thought of this as he sat here listening to the wind outside and the beatinir of the rain atrainst the windows. Auain and ao-ain he caught the falling figure : again and again lieard the half-broken words, " Too far ! " And for his own gold, that lay in the coffers of the bank, or was secure in mortgages, bonds and real estate— what of it ^ What of it ^ Why had he wasted the days of the one youth God would give him ? He had wrested wealth from the country; to the country it should return. Into his heart there had crept the hope that it would some day have gone to enrich those children who so lately had come into his home. Now they would not need it, it might go where it would. O bootless task that he had set himself ! Gently the door opened, and Gwyneth came in, crossing over to him so softly he did not hear her step. [103] 1:' ■ BB TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. 'li^^ " Uncle Eddie ; Uncle Eddie, dear ! here is little Raphael Reggeoletto's violin." " Ah ! Gwyneth," he answered, " it was very kind of you to come : I was a bit lonely, I believe." " Were you, Uncle Eddie ? " she asked, " I have been almost lonely this afternoon, too." " You ! " he exclaimed, carefully examining the violin, and turning it over. " Yes," she replied, with a long breath, " it has been raini'ig so dreadfully that my old Italian and the music boy didn't come ; it will be another whole seven days. before they do ! " " I'm always hearing of that music boy of yours," he said, absently; then, "this is a ver}^ wonderful old violin — an Amati — it is one of the fe\v. I fancy it must have been in your mother's family for many years. It is genuine." " A name is on it somewhere ; written very, very small, ' Raphael Reggeoletto,' Uncle Eddie." " Yes ! ah, yes, here it is," he answered, laying the instrument gently down. Then he sighed. The child looked at him wistfully, noting the sad- ness of his face, the weariness of his eyes, the ineftaceable lines that the chisel of care had [ 104 ] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. graven upon his forehead, the heavy frosted hair jpon his temples. She was troubled, and laid lier warm little hand on his knee. " Ah ! Gwyneth, 1 am not good company to- night ; I'm afraid you'll not come down again. The room upstairs must be somewhat briirhter than this ; somewhat, I fancy." " You are always good company to me," she answered, earnestly, " and I come because I like to ; but — but— you are not happy to-night, Uncle Eddie, are you ? " "No," he answered, "no. Golden Locks, not very. You seem to have discovered it." " I know what it is," she said, " I know what it is that you have been thinking of," raising her eyes to the baby's face ; " I have thought of him, too, a great deal, Uncle Edwin, since we came. At first, you know, I used to wish and wish that he were here. Every day I'd wish it, and many times a day, w^ienever I saw the picture. He is so dear, so lovely," — pausing. " Well, one night I happened to look at Madelon when she was knitting, and I saw how old she was— how old and sorrowful, Then I thought of Daisy and Maida, and even me, how we will [105] fT TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. grow old some day, Uncle Edwin, all of us. Wv cannot help it, yon know, but I never thought of it before. I'm glad," she added, " that my mother will never grow old. I am glad. Uncle Eddie, that Jie will never grow old, but be a bab}^ always ! " So saying, she kissed him of her own sweet accord upon the whitened hair, as a rose mio'ht brush against a rock where its branches had climbed, as a violet might bend and swino; against a forest tree : then she went away. When the man was left alone he walked over to the high mantel, and, folding his arms, rested his head upon them. Before his eyes the pano- rama of the day's bitter hours unrolled itself. Again he lifted that heavy weight and felt for the pulseless heart ; then slowly, slowly the vision passed. In its place came the form of a child ; her tender voice sounded in his cars. What was it she had said ? Ah ! he remembered ; "I am glad. Uncle Edwin, that he will never grow old." words most wise — most wise beyond her years in deed and truth. Then he, who had borne the heat and burden [106] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. of the day, and run the race wliere every man is against his brother and the one who falls is trodden underfoot, lifted his face to where that little son of his smiled down at him in ever radiant beauty, and looking long upon him thus, into his weary spirit there stole sweet peace. [107] MM CHAPTER XIV. Some days after the cablef^ram reached Van Norman, two letters came from Captain Tre- velj^an — one for him and one for the three little maids, They were written shortly before he left Eng- land for the south. In the one to Van Norman he simply said that news" had been sent him of the sudden and violent death of Antonio Reo-- geoletto the younger, and that of his father, which followed almost directly after from the shock and o-rief. The will of old Antonio Reggeoletto, when found, was very concise, leaving everything to his son ; but in case of his death, to his niece, Margarita Trevelyan, and her children. There were no other heirs. No mention had been made of the boy Raphael, who with- out doubt had long since perished at sea. How- ever, Captain Trevelyan said, now he would leave no stone unturned to find him, as he felt [108] TREA^ELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. that he had quite equal rights with his sister. Reggeoletto should be advertised for at all the principal ports, and in every possible way. The extent of the fortune was utterly unknown to him, but he would have everything made perfectly straight and clear upon returning to Naples. The old home of the Rcggeolettos certainly held curios and many things wliich would be of value and interest to the children in years to come. That should be left as it was. He did not expect to make a settlement of the business and reach New York again until the middle of May. Cap- tain Huntington, who was a friend of his, and in the employ of the company, had been secured to take his place in command for some months. He thanked Van Norman and Violet that they had made his heart so happy regarding his dear daughters, and entrusted them still further to their kindness and care. He would ao-ain see the place, he said, where he had found that which, now it was taken away, the world could not give him again. [109] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. To Daisy, Maida and Gwyneth he wrote : " My Little Daughters, — "I will not see you again until spring has come — not, indeed, till nearly suniiner — but you will be with me in my thoughts every hour of every day. " I go to Naples, to the old home of your mother, which has been left empty by the death of the two Reggeolettos. I know nothing of the estate of your grand-uncle, except that such as it is it belongs to you ; therefore, I go to find out, and furthermore to see that the old house, which was your mother's home for so many years, and her father's before, be left untouched, that you may see it, darlings, as I saw it in a year of the past. " We sailors are not scribes, vou know, so I will just send the love of my heart, and leave Maida and Bab}- in Daisy's care, and all of you in the charge of dear old Madelon and Aunt Violet. Mr. Barton wishes me to remind you of him. Brady is well and hearty. I trust you will often hear your friend, Bishop Salisbury, and that you sometimes see the old organ-man and his boy, as 0\vy]i seems to like them. [ 110 1 TREVELYxVN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. " I know, sweethearts, that you reiiieinber your mother always, and her gentle words ; wliile you do, I have no fear for you at any time. " Your father, "John Tkevelyan." They were rather unhappy for the I'est of that day, and when iVunt Violet had h'nishod rradin"- the letter to them (which they all read separ- ately, and together afterwards), there were tears in their eyes, and Maida threw herself on the sofa, refusing to be comforted. " I never did like my grand-unele Reggeoleno, anyway, and if he hadn't died father would, have been here next month." "Maida,'' said Gwyneth, gravely, "you have got to like him now he is dead. It's (juite dif- ferent about liking people when they are dead, you know." "No matter how hard 1 tried, I couldn't," came in muffled tones from the pillows. " IJ(j just knew we wanted father, and so he died now. f) "That is a dreadful thing to say, Maida Tre- velyan," said Baby, walking away. [Ill] TREVELYAN'H LITTLE ]> AUG JITEUS. i t ' But th«3 (lays went by — as the dayn always do, no matter what comes — and takin^- a calen- dar, they marked off each as it passed. It was now near the end of February. Every evening after tea, in the lengthening.'' twilight, Gwyneth would go down to the ([uiet room and watcli for Van Noruiiin's ai)pearing. He always came, sooner or later; never was she dis- appointe(]. They would be very gay sometimes ; she and P^ritz, who was her shadow, could bring smiles to his face when the world's paid come- dians failed to do so. Never, he had said, .would he sadden her « again, but would set himself the task — the pleasure, rather— of making that hour of the day the one she loved best. Sometimes he would read. Now it was the "Pied Piper" of Hamelin Town ; now, the " Jack- daw of Rheims "; again, a scrap of Eugene Field, or a passage from " The Bells." And she would listen, with delighted face, to the voice she loved ; such a fine voice, rich, low-pitched, with the beautiful soft intonation of the South, that long years spent in the North had not worn away. Again, perchance, they '[112] TREVKLYAN'S LITTLK D A irOlITHUS. would walk nronnd the sombre place, hand in hand, pausino- Ijcfore (he poets; then lie would take down the hooks of each in turn, and read some verse or couplet that her mijid could master, over and ovei- till she kni'W it hy heart ; some line of l)eauty, som(3 wonderful thou(--ht that, in melodious words, haulators they met \vere to him " a joy forever. ' As he had never been personally acquainted with a baby, he allowed himself to miss no opportunity of finding out what one was like; so when he espied a small carriage he would fly to it, stand upon his bandy hind legs, and, in spite of protesting nursemaid, p- anxiously up the street. [121] rasarani m i!l CHAPTER XVI. About four o'clock Van Norman turned home- ward. His wife had said she was going to take the two children out, and leave Gwynetli at home, so as lie walked he thought of the child. In his pocket was a new >S7. Xlchohis^ and he intended reading it to her at once. Her face too often wore a grave and serious expression, he thought, and of late her lovely mouth had fallen into curves too sad for a child. She had grown dear to him, very dear ; he said as much to himself that afternoon as he bent his head atrainst the buffetinn; wind. When he reached home, and Wilkinson opened the heavy doors, he told the old ^mtler to send up word to Miss Cxwyneth that he would like to have her come down to the library, and soon she came. " Uncle Eddie, dear," she said, " won't you come up to the nursery this afternoon and see [122] T R E V K L Y A N '8 L [ T T F. K 1) A i; <.^ IT T E K s . me ? 1 am all alone with Madeloii, ami I want to watch for my music boy ; then you can aee him, too." He drew a heavy breath. "It's years since I was in that room, Golden Locks," he said. " Well, come now, then," she answered, softly, taking his hand and drawing him toward the door. Together they went up the stairs, where they could look down upon the three Crusaders ever holding the lamps above their helmeted heads: together they went through the long halls, to- gether they reached the nursery. One moment the man waited, holding back a heavy white curtain and looking in. All was as it had been when a baby of three summers lived there, in the long amj. Before his eves rose a mist, hot and blinding, then he felt the clinging of soft little fingers to his arm, and saw the child's sw^eet face before him. " Come," she said, persuasively, and as he would not again grieve her, he went in. No colors mottled the polished floor to-day, [123] IVLUM TKEVEL VAN'S LITTLE DATTOHTERS. i'or tlu' sun was hidden beliind dark clouds, but tlio beautiful Shepherd had not changed. He stood as of old, ever patient, ever waiting, ever wonderful ; and as Van Nornuin looked again upon the gracious, well-beloved figure, he was glad he had come, glad once more to be in that room of many memories. The old nurse arose when they entered. " I am most happy, signor, that you come to visit us," she said, with a curtsey. "Thank you, Madelon," he answered, " do not let us interrupt your knitting." " Will you not sit over here by the window. Uncle Edwin ^ " asked Gwyn. " See I in this big wicker chair," pulling it out, " it is very, very comfortable, then I will sit so in my rock- ing-chair, where I can talk to you and watch for my music boy." " Ah I that boy again — one might easily grow jealous of him." '* You need not, dear Uncle Eddie," laying one hand in his, " not for a minute : but I have been thinking of what you said a gentleman was, ' one who is faithful, gentle, honest and brave.' [12+] 4111 TREVELYAX'S LTTTM: hATfJITTERS. I wisli 1 wore si'.re my music hoy wore all of these. He is ^rontle, that I know, hecauso I have spoken to him : very gentle in the way he speaks to Flitters, the old Italian man, and Wilkinson, and me. Then he is fioiicst, because the other day, the last Saturday he was liere. Flitters dropped her brooch when we went to give them the money. You know Flitters' little gold brooch, don't you, Uncle Edwin ? " anxiously. " No," as he shook his head. "It is a most valuable one: it has 'John's' hair in it, in the back, she told me. I suppose," thoughtfully, "John is Flitters' brother: well, anyway, she dropped it and didn't miss it, and after we had gone in that boy of mine found it, and brought it to Wilkinson. He said he saw it glittering on the snow where we had been standing; so he is honest, you see, Uncle Edwin." " Yes ? " said Van Norman as she stopped. " Yes ? " he repeated questioningly. "It would be harder to find out that he is faithful and brave," she went on, wistfully; "but I do hope we ivlll find out, some day." [ 125 ] T"*"^'*'*" •SMI II TUEVELYAN'S LTTTLR DAUGHTERS. Then staitin;; to her feet, and looking down the road — " Oh ! there is the organ now. It'.s coming, Madelon : l)ut it's a long v.'ay up yet. Dear, dear me I " " What \H it, Gwyn ? " asked Van Norman, who had risen and was standing beside her. " Why, Uncle Eddie, it doesn't look like the Italian ; no, it isn't, nor the bo}^ — it's two others I don't know." Disappointment was in the blue eyes raised to his, and her lips trembled. " Never mind, Gwyneth ; never mind, dar- ling," he said, vowing that the entire orchestra of man, organ and boy should be found and brought to the house on the morrow^ " Don't vex yourself ; I will find out wdiere the}^ are and all about them for vou, at once." "Thank you so nnich, Uncle T^ddie," said the child ; " I do want to know^" The man had reached the house by this time, and evidently intended to stop and play. After the first turn of the handle, Gwyn gave a little cry of joy. " Why, it's their organ ! " she exclaimed. [126] TUEVKI. VAX'S MTTLr: l> A r(} HTF.H S. " Tlien I'll ^-o down at onco and tell WilkiiiHoii to find out when- they got it, mid nil about the other man and the boy." " You are so kind," she said, with shinint^^eyes ; "and will yon come up here some other time ? " " I will," he replied, gently, " I will, indeed." The old butler was in the hall listeninir to the strains without : and as he heard them luufHed by distance, they certainly sounde«»— . Ti i^ ^'w a raBra BjaraaB yaWiP i f Ti '4 TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. sweets on it ; and ever so many flower girls ; and a Ferris-wheel : and a great white camel, with beautiful trappings and fringes of silver and purple, and you could ride on him, dear — but we didn't, of course ! " " A. camel ? " said Gwj'-neth ; " I haven't seen a camel since I was quite little, when father took us to the Zoo in London. Was he all humpy and bumpy and lumpy ? " " That was only a year ago, Baby," an- swered Daisy, with a sad expression coming into her eyes. She remembered who had been with them then. " Why do you ask that absurd question about his being humpy — and — what was it, Gwyn ? " asked Maida. "That is just a line of the 'Camel's Lament,' that Uncle Edwin read me the other eveninof in the library." " Oh, I see," said Maida, " Uncle Eddie ' Oh, that's the reason you like to go down to the librar}^ ! Does he (dways read to you ? " "No, not always: sometimes we talk, some- times he plays." " Well, anyway you wish you had been with [ 180 ] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. us, don't you, darling ? " said Maida ; " but never mind, we will tell you all the rest of it after tea," as she heard Madelon say that it was (|uite ready. " I should like to have been there and seen it all, especially the great white camel in purple and silver; but I would rather have been at home, Maida," with a sweet smile. " Why would you, dear ? " asked Daisv. "For one thing," she answered, "Uncle Eddie caine up here to the nursery with me. He said he had not been here for many years. You know why it was, Daisy ? " "Yes, yes. dear," replied Daisy, 'and what else ? " " Well, he didn't stay long, but we talked about my music ooy, and waited for him to come. When lie didn't come, Uncle Eddie said he would fi id out whei-e he lived and all about him. So you ^ee -'r/i-y I am glad I stayed at home." ' Oh! GwynethTrevelyan.you are a very queer child," Maida remarked, as she helped herself to a piece of sponge-cake. [ 131 ] ^^m^mmmmmmm :'il I 15! I lit! ; CHAPTER XVII. Major Willo .< ■• and Edwin Van Norman were sitting at the .square table in the dining- room. Mrs. Van Norman had left them, and they were just lighting their cigars. To unaccustomed eyes the room would have seemed singular, as well as beautiful. It was hexangular in shape, and around it ran a wainscoting of most exquisitely carved cherry-wood ; the walls above were painted in shaded reds ; tlie velvet curtains, at door and window, continued the prevailing tone ; branch- ing candelabras from the walls and upon the table filled the room with a warm light from the small crimson shades that were like silken poppies. Five of the panels held, each one, a stag's head, with perfect antlers, and these had been chosen from amongst many for their beauty. In the sixth panel was the wide fire-place, with [ 132 1 TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. sliinino-, opalescent tiles, and the liiah mantel, above which hung the baby's picture. The table reflected a heavy bunch of roses that drooped in the warm air. The tw^o men sat opposite each other, and })etwpen them now huno- a faint blue haze. " Seems to me I've missed something to-night, or somebody," remai-ke could all go back to Italy with hiui during th" summer to see the old Reggeoletto hornesteaa , would you not like that ? " " Oh, that is a good plan," she cried, " nothinix could be better. If you can manage to go with us, and Jack agrees, we will go in June or July." " Willoughby crosses about the end of June. We could all sail together, if that would please you ? " " Indeed it would be quite delightful to have the Major; he appreciates the children, I thirk." *' Yes, I believe he does. He's a good adviser regarding the management of children, is Willoughby," remarked Van Norman laugh- ingly, as he went out. [ 144] CHAPTER XIX. It Wcas spring, no doubt of it. Tho sparrows proclaimed it upon the nousetops. The Broad- way shop windows told the tale so plainly that he who ran might read. Flowers were everywhere. Gone were the fascinating winter trappings of fur, and in their place had come no less bewitching and ensnaring boas of feathers, and little lly-away capes of silk and lace. The tailor made girl also was abroad. Before all the club-houses and o-rand hotels stood great urns and baskets of pansies ; the purple and yellow darlings turning their faces up to passers-by, nodding as though to say " This time we've come to stay." In the country " all the trees on all the hills unfurled their thousand leaves." In the city squares were immense beds of blue and white hyacinths. Sitting on the park benches at noontide might be seen those whose faces told 10 [ 145 ] li^. 'I : TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTER8. the story of illness, trouble and want ; of the struggle for existence during the long bitter months just over. Now some of them at least could say, " Gone is ' the winter of our discon- tent ! ' " for with such a blue sky above, such a soft and tender green on every side, such a warm velvety air, fresh from the sea, blowing in their faces, who could be entirely" sad ? So thoup'ht Van Norman as he crossed Wash- ington Square on his way back to lunch. He gave of his abundance always to those who came in his way and needed help. Having once been poor himself, he did not forget. Old Mr. Browning alone knew^ where the immense sum of money went that was set aside each year for the unfortunate. But the man was thinking to-day, as he saw about him the faces of those who had been prisoners in hospitals, and sojourners in dark and dismal places of the city, how little could be done for so many, so many ; and of how good a thing it was that spring and summer came back to the earth. When he reached his own house it struck him that it, too, repeated the same sweet story. [ 14(j J TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. On all the stone window-ledges were banks of pansies, with their pretty heads turned down- ward toward the streets. One l)io- irrav bal- cony was wreathed in daffodils ; tliey made him think of Gwyneth, and of what his wife had said about her hair. Little Gwyneth ! he hoped that Jack would not take her away. Sometimes lie forgot that she did not belong to himself, she seemed to have been with them always: but she was not his — he nuist remember that — she was Trevelyan's. Had he not all his life—for the past thirteen years at least— paid the penalty of growing too fond of a child ? His face clouded, and he went in with heavy heart. Mrs. Van Xorman and he were alone at luncheon. She was rather quiet, it seemed to him as he rose to leave the table : indeed, they had both been more silent than usual. " Anything wrong, dear ? " he asked. " Oh, no, Eddie ; only another abominable birthday ! " He laughed, looking at the troubled pink and white face. "I shouldn't think you need mind them," he said, " they don't show." [ 147 ] ^'i|; TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. .2 ■: ■ -i ■! m " You mean, I must be getting used to them, Ed ! " with a little petulant shrug of the shoul- ders. " I know my original one is lost in the mists of antiquity ; there is no one aliv^e, I believe, who remembers it ! " " No, sweetheart, mine, I didn't mean that. I meant that you are no older tlian you look, and that is twenty-four, and when you are very much worried about anything, or tired — twenty-five ! " " That is very charming to hear ; no one would believe you had it in you to say such things," she answered, brightening ; "but then you know, dear, that no one looks old or gets old now- adays. Some few of us reach thirty, but I never knew of but one woman in my life who got to thirty-five ; and she used to own up to it with perfect calmness. She was the most heaiitifid woman I ever saw. It would have made no difference if they had said she was as old as ' She.' Her hair was always rolled off her face, too. When anyone can stand fluit she is perfect. The men used to wait around her to give them a dance — at balls in London, you know, dear ; you nevor saw her — t/ivee deep ! [148] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. and the pretty debutante behind would not have her progi-anune halt* full.' "Indeed?" with an amused expression, "but you must begin to gi-ow a little older, Violet, or I will be such a terrible contrast to you ; don't you see ? " " Ah, Ed : " laying her curly head against his arm, "I shoald be contented. I had never seen an^^one to be compared with you when we were married— but Jack, of course, but Jack— and I have never seen anyone to compare with you since I " " Thank you," he answered, " thaidc you, little wife ; come with me into the library." As they were crossing the hall she gave a little laugh. " Age has its compensations," she said. " What, particularly ? " " Well, you remember when we were married I had a few freckles, don't you ? Just a few ? " " Yes, dear, I remember ; but I considered them becoming— made you look whiter where there were none, you know." " Oh, you were good enough to say that ; but, of course, it was absurd ! They were mv chief [ 149 ] ^ ^i^ ll P W will T 11 E V K h Y A N ' S L T T T L E 1 ) A V (J 1 1 'J^ E 1 { ^^ . cause of unhappiness, and now they are all gone. However, when I am an old lady — oh, yes, there are old, old ladies : it is in the intervening stages there is nobody — then I will have Daisy and Maida and little Gwyncth. What joy to launch three such beauties upon the world ! Maida will be a duchess, I have not a doubt. She is going to be the most beautiful." " Do you think so ? '' he said, walking across to a cabinet, unlocking it, and taking out a box. " Of course." Then, as he handed her the box, open — " Emeralds ! what wonderful emeralds ! " she cried, enraptured, ". you are so good to me, so very, very kind. Emeralds for May ! I am glad my birthday is on Maj^'-day. I will take them up to the nursery and show them to the children. Oh, thank you again and again ; and Eddie, this afternoon, if I drive to the office for you at fivf, \,vill you come home with me ? " '■ Yes, sweetheart," he waid^ watching her as she went out of the room. I low pleased she is — almost like a child in her haste to show the children her gift — he thought. No, she was not growing older. Life was still a joyous thing to her. How could she change ? Could [ 150 ] TREVEr.YAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. buttertlies grow old ? whoever saw oikj ? Do they turn gray and white, and weary of tlie summer flowers ? They die, of course. You now and then find one witli its ex(|uisite wings quite still : it does not flutter when you touch it, but it is not old — it is not old. [151] [fi CHAPTER XX. p Violet Van Norman ran up to the nursery with her box of emeralds. The gleaming stones were perfect in form and color. Every little while on her way she would stop, open the box, and look in at the beautiful things. " See, darlings ! " she cried to the three chil- dren, who were being dressed to go out ; " see what Uncle Eddie has given me ; it is my birth- day ! " They all wished her many, many happy returns of the day, and, with exclamations of delight, gazed wonderingly at the jewels. " Do put them on, Aunt Violet," said Maida. " Oh, dear, I must be in evening dress to wear them — well, perhaps the bracelet." " No, Aunt Violet ; the collar, and the ring, [ 152 ] TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE 1) AV (I HTEIiS. too ; and tlie ^ardle. Oh, I never su'.v anything like that I " "Do you like them, Gwyneth?" turnincr to the child. " Oh, yes, indeed, they are lovely : Imt I like pearls best— a liftk best, that is. Mother had a string of pearls; they are Daisy's now, and she wdl wear them when she is grown up. Those I like next, though. Aunt Violet, look : they flash from light to dark." "Do you remember, darling," said Daisy, "what they read last Sunday about the city where mother is ? Aunt Violet, that is why I listened and remembered, I fancy. All the foundations are of precious stones." " And each of the twelve gates," said Baby, lifting up her great blue eyes seriously to Mrs. Van Norman, "each of the twelve gates is a pearl. I listened, too, Daisy." " Yes, dear; yes, I know," said Mrs. Van Nor- man, slowly, putting the emeralds away and shutting the box. " Now, Madelon, Miss Daisy and Maida are to go out, and then come home and stay with you. I am going to take Baby with me this afternoon. Do you want to drive [153] hi! 'M TKEVELYxVN'S LTTTLE DAUO IITEIIS. clown to Uncle Edwin's office, und brin^j' hiin home early, Gwyn ^ " " Oh, yes. Aunt Violet, I would rut her do tluit than anything," she answered. 80 at half-past four they started. It was a glorious afternoon, and the trees were in their beauty, for it was lilac time. " I believe Simmers and Brown have new buttons on their green coats, Aunt Violet," said the child ; " they glitter like new ones." " All the livery is new, dear ; it has to be in the spring, you know," she answered, thinking how lovely the golden hair looked under the child's wide black hat. " I suppose so," said Gwyn ; " and, Aunt Violet, dear, it's an awfully long time since I saw my music boy ; he will have grown quite tall by this time, I believe." Aunt Violet smiled. " Oh, it's only five or six weeks, is it not ? And you know we send them a big, big basket of things every Saturdo^' Gwyneth." " Oh, yes, and it's very good of you ; but I am sorry we missed him when he called at the house, though." [154] TRKVKLYANS MTTU: |)AU(J lITi: l{S, "Did he come?" asked Mrs. Van Nonnan, bowinrr to some people that drove by; "I liad forgotten. Perhaps you did not tell me." " Yes, I told you, Aunt Violet. He brou7 ] m ,...(. 1'; I'm T 1 ? E V E L Y A N ' S L T T T L E I) A U G li T T^ 1'. S . She was white, but not unconscious ; not even injured, he hoped. " Are you hurt, darling — are you hurt at all ? " he cried, with trembling lips and unsteady voice. " No, Uncle Edwin, only just my arm ; but he is killed. Put me down — go to him ! " she cried, with wide and frightened eyes. " Oh, go to him ! " He lifted her to the carriage, where his wife was waiting with colorless face and tightly- clasped hands. " Is she all right, Edwin ? " she asked, with a little sob. " Take her, her arm is hurt ; I must go to the boy." " What boy ? What boy ? I did not see it, you know." But he was gone. " My music boy," Gwyneth sobbed. " He is killed." " Your arm, darling ; does it hurt you ^ " cried Mrs. Van Norman, as she saw the strained and agonized look in her eyes. " My arm ? No, there is something the matter with it : but I do not feel it much. I wish — I wish they would bring him ! " [158] TllEA^ELYAX'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. Van Norniaii went back to the shop wliere tlic boy had been carried. The crowd oi:)ened respectfully to let him pass. Inside were two policemen ; no doctor had yet come. " He is quite unconscious," said one of them : " that off-liorse struck him witli its fore-foot as he caught the little girl. I saw it : there is no mark on him, but he got a bad knock. Shall we ring for the ambulance, or wait for the dt)c- tor. I think he had better go to the hospital, sir." " Take him to my carriage ; he will go home with me," said the man. "One of you tele- phone for a doctor to go direct to my house : for two, or any number, so that they get there by the time we do." They lifted the slender, boyish figure, and gently carried it away, then laid him as best they could on the seat. " Here's his violin, sir," said one of the police- men, as the horses started : " it's pretty badly smashed, but he might want to see it." Brown drove with all the care he could, and over the smoothest roads : Init the way seemed endless. Often Van Xormnn would glance at [159] f'.-' TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. the child, and wonder at the expression on her face. She never took her eyes from the boy's beautiful features as he lay like a piece of carveu marble against Van Norman's sleeve. " He is not dead, Gwyneth," he said to her. " He is not dead, dear. Do not fear it." She turned her face to him. " He is brave" she said : " I know now he is a gentleman." " Yes," he replied ; " he Is a gentleman." They carried him into the great hall, and from there to the library. The doctors who came said he was suffering from shock and concussion of the brain, and must be kept per- fectly quiet. Gwyneth's poor little arm was l)roken, and Van Norman put in a bad quarter of an hour while it was being set. She did not say a word as he held her while they put it in the bandages. " Does it not pain dreadfully :* " he asked. " Yes, rather, dear Uncle Eddie : but he is not dead, you know. I keep thinking of that all the time." Mrs. Van Norman went up to the nursery to tell the children the story, after Gwyneth's arm [ 160 ] r he is TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. was set. She had left her sitting in the big chair — a pathetic Kttle figure — for she would not leave the room contentedly. Old Madelon raised her hands as she listened to her mistress. " The blessed saints had her in their charcre. madam ; tliey saved her this -'. 11 Ir ;> 't,J nOBRRnP^MM CHAPTER XXL Before Van Norman realized what the old nurse said, Gwyneth ran to her. Then he also went over and laid one hand on the bent head. She was tremblino-, he conld see. What strano-e fancy possessed her— what wandcrino- thouo-ht ? " Madelon ! " he said, " listen to me. Raphael went away years ago, and would be a man of my ge now." Glancing down, he noticed a change had come, and very soon the boy opened his eyes. So dark they were and full of dreams, as though in spirit he had been wandering far from the turbulent scenes of earth. On the white face lay deep violet shadows. He looked at the anxious group watching him breathlessly, then tried to rise upon one arm, but fell back and seemed to sleep again. Van Norman turned to the old nurse and Gwyneth. " Take her up to the nursery, Made- lon ; I will call Dr. Lincoln." [163] TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. She arose and dropped a curtsey of ancient fashion. Taking Baby's hand, she waited a moment witli tcar-dinuned eyes fastened upon the boy ; then she raised them to Van Norman, who was watching her. " I am not deceived, signor," she said : " this is no other than Raphael Reggeoletto ," and tlie two went out, closing the door. In a few minutes Dr. Lincoln, a man who had been family physician and friend for many years, entered. He laid his hand lightly on the slender wrist. " Is there a chani'-e ? ** asked Van Norman ; "I fancied so just now." " I think he hears us," answered the other. " Hand me that stimulant." After what seemed an hour to the watching men, the boy opened his deep and questioning eyes again, and turned them upon Van Norman. " Where is she ? " he asked. " She is all right, niy lad, and was here not long ago. Lie still and rest." He looked up with patient persistency. " Who called my name, signor ? " [ 164] TKEVKLYAX'S LITTLK I) Al Ci JIT I. HS. " Your naine '. " replied Van Noriiuiii, in star- tled tones, " your name ? " " Answer him," said Dr. Lincoln. "Yes, my name, Raphael Recrgeoletto. \u one calls me that now." He turned wearily. "Wliy," said Van Norman, with unsteady voice, " it was old Madelon who called vou. Old Madelon, do you remem})er having heard of her i " He smiled a faint, fleeting smile; then lay quiet, without answerincr. " I will watch," said the doctor ; " you go and take a glass of brandy ; you look shaken, my dear fellow ; you look worn out. The little lad will sleep now, for I think he is all right. He may sleep for hours, indeed." Van Norman went into the dining-room and did as the doctor advised. He needed something to pull himself together, he admitted. Ever and ever he saw the dashing horses swerve to one side ; ever beheld those two little figures on the road. The boy's face rose before him oftener than Gwyneth's, which was strange, he thought. Who could he be ? The name Avas a coin- cidence, of course ; but what a strange one ! As the man thought, another face came to his [ 165 ] PS r TKEVELYAN'S LITTLE I) AUGIITEP.S. nnnd — a girlish one, witli ilio same liauntinj;, shadowy eyes, dark and mourid'ul ; the waine olive tints, the same tan;^le of bronzed hair, all threads of copper color in tlie sun. It was Daisy Trevelyan. Daisy 1 Then the picture of the boy returned. They were alike, unquestionably — very, very much alike. This must be Reggeo- letto's son. It flashed upon him as the truth. But where was his father ? Why had they never heard of him ? He thought and thought, and always the boy's face was before him. By and by Wilkinson came in. " You dine at 'ome to-night, sir ? " he asked, seeing his master there at this unusual hour. " Oh, yes, Wilkinson," Van Norman answered, absently, " we dine always, though the skies fall." After the master left, Wilkinson went about polishing a glass here, filling a decanter there, and making everything beautiful; but there was a shakiness in his hand, an unsteadi- ness in his gait, an unsettled expression in his eye, hitherto unknown. Also, he was decidedly erratic ; made fruitless trips around the table and over to the sideboard, but was even more [IGGJ TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTEUS. solemn than usual, and quite as slow and i>on- derous. After everything was in place, he set a o-reat bowl of narcissus in the centre, and stepped back to view the effect. " I ope heverythinn- is right ; but I won't be sure," he said, huskily, "I won't he sure; I'm that hupset to-night, I'd forgive myself for aforgetting my hown name. When I thinks of what mkjJd 'ave 'appened, my blood it runs cold, like hicicles ! And when I tliinks of the Cap- tain, my 'eart it seems as thoufdi it were airoino- to stop ! And when I thinks of that little chap hin there, I feel like I did when once I 'eard Miss Rose Coghlan recite 'The Charge of the Light Brigade.' I told Flitters 'ow it would be. I says, says I, ' Flitters, things ain't agoing to be that cahn as they 'ave been '; and they ain't!" In the nursery they w^ere just beginning to grow more settled, and tea had been brought in as usual. It was really a charming tea, and looked very pretty when set on the shining- round table. There was honey, that Gwyneth loved; a certain kind of entrancing small cake, [107] THEVELYAN'S LITTLE DArGHTEUS. too, that she had on some occasion been heard to express a hking for. There were strips of toast, and ladies' lingers of bread-and-butter; but thougli the children adnured it very much, they were not able to do more than admire. Madelon sat in her chair by the chimney-piece, but she did not knit ; her thoughts were far away. Gwyneth lay on the sofa, surrounded by many cushions. Daisy was beside her, holding her little bandaged hand, while Maida was everywhere. She insisted on giving Baby all her most cherished possessions : and not content with that, brought them to the sofa and made a pile of them there at the foot. " I can give them all back, you know, Daisy," whispered Gwyn, " and Maida seems to like to give them to me ; doesn't slie ? " " Yes, indeed," answered Daisy. " You are awfully (piiet, Daisy, dear," said the child. " I am thiid-:ing of a great many tilings. Baby — a great many things. I am glad father will not be back till your arm is better." " Oh, don't fret about my arm, Daisy ; it is not [1G8] TREVELYAN'.S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. troubling me, for one tiling ; and if he had not been hurt I would be ">.^'' O / /A Photographic Sciences Corporation ^ V ^ :\ \ % V ^> ^.%,% ;\ % V" «* 1^ 23 WEST MAIN STRECt WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 I Ua ^ CHAPTER XXIII, I That afternoon old Madelon was alone with the lad a long time. She told him of the way- he had been brought home ; who the three chil- dren he knew by sight so well were ; of herself, and the long, long years she had hoped to find his father. He in turn told of those days of wandering when he sailed and had no home but the ship. " My father kept me with him after I was five years old," he said, " then, when he was taken away, I got back to New York as best I could. We had often been there, and I knew it better than other cities." He went on to relate how he had played the violin on the streets, and lived as he might, till he fell in with the old Italian Gouvisi and his wife, two years before. " They were kind," he said, " and I stayed with them." Old Madelon wept over the hard fortune of [ 180 ] Pit- TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. the boy. In her mind l,e and l,is fatlier had become one. He had heard of her all his Hfe, and so she was an old friend. " Tell me, Madelon, who is the gentleman with the white hair and the grave face, the one who comes and sits beside me i " "He is Signor Van Norman, whose house we are in," said she. " I wish, Madelon," he answered. " that he were Captain Trevelyan." " Ah, no, my dear lad ! There is not anyone upon the world like the Captain ! ' cried the nurse, " when you see him then you will know." " Perhaps," he answered, slowly, " for he is little Gwyneth's father ; but I like the one witli the deep eyes and white hair-I like his voice Madelon." "Wait, wait, my lad, and see!" she said, leaving him. They expected Captain Trevelyan very soon Raphael grew quite well, and he and the three children were the best of friends; but he was oftenest by Gwyneth's side. Her arm tied up in Its silken sling made her look very pitiful [ 181 J wm^ I IS; , : Ml ■: • TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. they all thought, and they did everything pos- sible to amuse her. Raphael would sit by the window in the white room, and tell them stories of his life, of tlie time he had been at sea with his father, and later when he was poor and alone in the vast city. " 0, Raphael," said Daisy, one morning after one of these tales, " don't tell us any more like that ; it makes my heart ache to think that we have had everything and you nothing. Don't tell us any more." " I won't then, Daisy," he answered ; " but it's all over now, you know." Truly, so it was ; and with the adaptability that children alone possess, they all fell into their right relationship. Van Norman drove with him to see old Gouvisi the lirst day he was able to go out. " He was very kind to me, Mr. Van Norman," said the boy ; " I think they will not want me to go away." " Do you know whether there is any one thing he wishes ^ " asked Van Norman. " Oh, yes, he and his wife want to go back to Italy and take Beb^, their granddaughter, with them." [ 182 ] a i TnKVELYAN'8 LITTLE DAUGHTERS. " They shall go," Van Norman answered. " You are very good, sir, and kinder than any man J ever knew but my father," said the lad, impulsively, his voice trembling over the words. On the twenty-fifth of May Captain Trevelyan reached New York. Th- time had seemed very long since he left, and as for the children, they had checked off every day of it ; but the last week did spin itself out to a good length. Old Madelon overheard Maida, who was possessed of the very spirit of restlessness as his return drew near, remark to Gwyneth, " It's per- fectly absurd, Baby, for people to say every day has the same number of hours. Anyone could tell by their feelings some days are longer than others." " I think it must be our feelings that make them seem that way, Maida ; they wouldn't tell us they were all the same if they were not, you know." " Well, perhaps not," was the answer, with a shrug, " but it seems very queer to me : there's something wrong about it, I think, and it may be the almanacs." However, the longest days go by ; he came at [183] JIJPIPP^ li TREVELYAN'S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. m^ last, and Mrs. Van Norman took them to the steamer to meet him. It had been settled that nothint^ should be told of Raphael till they had reached the house ; but the man saw there was a suppressed something about them. Anyhow, Baby's arm re- quired an explanation, which Aunt Violet gave, going into as few details as possible. But with those clear eyes looking so closely at each of them, and seeming to read their very secret thoughts, it was hard not to tell at once. After they had driven some way towards home, Baby sitting on his knee, Daisy and Maida on each side gazing up at him in absorbed admiration, Trevelyan leaned over to his sister, who was watching him adoringly from the oppo- site seat,her face all smiles and dimples, and said, " Violet, these children have something on their minds. What is it ? A secret ? I am sure there is something by the way they look at me." " Well, yes, Jack, we all liave something on our minds; in fact, we are keeping a surprise for you at home." " Yes, father, a surprise," they cried together, " a very nice one, too." [ 184 ] TREYKLYANS LITTLE DAUGHTERS. "Are you ? ^\•ell, that is awfully good of you all. Is it something you bought ?" "Oh, no, father, no." "Something alive?" he asked, looking down at Gwyneth. "Yes, yes, something very much alive: but you musn't guess," .said Daisy. "Yes, yes, you may, father; for you'll never, never guess in the wide world." " Is it something you had given to you ? " " No, not exactly," they cried ; " but you are getting near it." "Then something you found?" "Yes, father, something Gwyneth found." " Gwyneth, little Gwyneth ? and it's very valuable, is it ? " " Here we are, Jack, at home," said Mrs. Yan Norman, "you will soon know now." They took him directly up to the nursery, and he greeted Madelon. Over by the window, where the Good Shepherd was, stood a boy. tall and slender, with wavy brown hair, olive tinted skin, and full red lips, like— like whose ? He could not think. [ 185 ] ^^ I'V I .1 i - 1 ft '■; if), i TUEVELYAN.S LITTLE DAUGHTERS. "Who is he ?" he asked, lookin;^ from one of the children to the otlier. " Wlio is he like, father ? " asked Daisy. The boy did not niose, but kept his eyes upon them. " He is like you, Daisy." " Father," she said, " he is our cousin Raphael. His father was our uncle, who ran away from Naples so long, long ago. Gwyneth found him. It was he who saved her from beinj^ killed that afternoon. He was the boy — the boy who came with the old Italian music man." Captain Trevelyan took in tlie story as Daisy told it so earnestly. He a.sked nothing more, but strode across the room and caught the boy's two hands with his own. " Let me look at you ! " he cried. " Ah 1 I see it is true, and thank heaven you are found — that you are found at last, my lad." Two or three days after this, Van Norman and Captain Trevelyan w^ere talking in the library. Trevelyan was telling of the fortune left by old Antonio Reggeoletto, and of the way it would now be divided. i f [ If^G ] TUEVELYAN'S L[TTI.K DAUGHTERS. "The lad shall have half of everything, and there is plenty for all," lie ended. Van Norman did not reply ; his face was set, and he gazed before him with troubled eyes. " He shall have Jadf\ I said. Did you hear, Van Norman ? " " Yes, Jack, I heard,'' he answered, shortly. Just then there was a knock at the door, and Gwyneth and Raphael entered. " May we come in, Uncle Edwin i " asked Gwyn. " Certainly, come over by me." She took the ebony stool, and drawing it to its old place by his chair, sat down and leaned her lovely head against it ; then she put out her hand, the one that was not hurt, and touclied her father's arm, for he was close by. "Stand over by the mantel, Raphael, where Uncle Edwin so often stands," said the child: " I like to look at you." The boy did as she told him, a wave of color rising in his face. Van Norman went to him. "Raphael," he said, "the old Reggeoletto of Naples is dead, and the younger one, too. There [ 1^^7 ] «^^ ti* li!i \r i y '• ■ ! ( i! TKEVELVAN S LITTLE DATG IITEl^S. is a large forlane left, wliich belongs now to your cousins. Captain Trevelyan wished to divide this with you : it is your right. Now, listen, will you take that money and return to the land of your fathers and re-establish the old name and home ^ You are the last of them. Or," and there was a tremor in the hitherto firm voice, " or, listen, will you give yourself to me ? Believe me, I speak from my heart when I say I want you." The room was very still. Gwyneth's hand clinched tight, tight upon her father's arm. Raphael looked into the Captain's handsome sun- browned fac^*, into the kindly eyes, so like little Gwyneth's, whom he loved. Truly here was a friend ; his own father had followed the sea also — and yet — and yet ; he turned slowly to the one beside him. There was a loneliness about this silent man who would speak no more persuasive word, — a look in his face which stole the lad's heart away ; and he could not have told why a tightness came to his throat and a blurr rose before him, but he knew well — oh, well, indeed — that they, too, understood each other. L188] ^If^' r ■^' , TREVELYAN'S LTTTLE DAUCMTERS. " Ah, sir," he saitl, " I would rather stay with you. What is the Re^r^eoletto name or fortune ^ What did it asant." "Oh, you cojne ofier ]\Ir. Barton, Major Willoughbv." "After Barton? I say: oh, that's not fair.' Just because he ha