"The years went by in the lonely villa without any change, except that my lady grew into the habit of taking her walks in the grounds later in the night. Not a word was exchanged between her and her husband; had seas divided them they could not have been further apart from each other.

"A dreadful, dreary monotony of days. The direction and control of the house was left entirely to me; my master took not the slightest interest in what was going on. I should have asked to be relieved from the service, had it not been for my affection for my mistress. To live with her--as I did for years, attending upon her daily--without loving her was not possible. Her gentleness, her resignation, her resolution, her patience, were almost beyond belief with those who were not constant witnesses of her lonely, blameless, suffering life.

"She never wrote or received a letter. She severed herself entirely from the world, and these rooms were her living grave.

"She loved her child, but she did not give way to any violent demonstration of feeling. I observed, as the lad grew up, that he became more and more perplexed by the relations which existed between his parents. Had one or the other been unkind to him, he might have been able to put a reasonable construction upon the estrangement, but they were equally affectionate, equally tender towards him. He continued to exercise the prettiest cunning to bring them together, but without avail. Without avail, also, the entreaties he used.

"'Mamma, the sun is shining beautifully. Do come out with me and speak to papa. Do, mamma, do! See, he is walking in the garden.'

"'Mamma, may I bring papa into your room? Say yes. I am sure he would be glad.'

"'Papa, mamma is really very ill. I do so wish you would see her and speak to her! There, papa, I have hold of your hand. Come, papa, come!'

"It was heart-breaking to hear the lad, who loved both, who received love from both.

"'Mamma,' he said, 'are you rich?'

"'In what way, dear child?' she asked, I have no doubt wondering at his question; 'in money? Do you mean that?'

"'Yes, mamma, I mean that.'

"'We are not in want of money, Christian.'

"'Then you can buy whatever you want, mamma.'

"'I want very little, Christian.'

"'But if you wanted a great deal,' he persisted, 'you have money to pay for it?'

"'Yes, Christian.'

"'And papa, too?'

"'Yes, and papa too.'

"'I can't make it out,' he said. 'Yesterday, I saw a poor little girl crying. I asked her what she was crying for, and she said her mamma was in great trouble because they had no money. I asked her if money would make her mamma happy, and she said yes. Then why does it not make you happy?'

"'Would you like some money, Christian,' said my lady, 'to give to this poor girl's mamma?'

"'Yes, mamma.'

"Here is my purse. Denise will go with you at once.'

"We went to the cottage, and found that the family were in deep distress. The father was in arrears with his rent, having been unable to work, through illness, for a good many weeks; he was now strong enough to return to his employment, but he was plunged into such difficulties that all his courage had deserted him. The mother was weak with overpowering anxiety, and the children were in want of food.

"I saw that the family were deserving of assistance, and I directed Master Christian what to give them. He visited them daily for a week and more, and the roses came back to the children's cheeks, and the hearts of the father and mother were filled with hope and gladness.

"'Mamma,' said Master Christian, 'you have no idea how happy they are--and all because I gave them a little money. They play and sing together--yes, mamma, all of them; it is beautiful to see them. They call me their good angel.'

"'I am very glad you have made them happy, my dear,' said my lady.

"'Mamma, they are happy because they love each other, and because they laugh and sing together. Let me be your good angel, mamma, and papa's. Tell me what to do, so that we may live like those poor people!'

"These were hard things for parents to hear, and harder because no answers could be given to them.

"We went out for a stroll every fine day for an hour or so, and when Master Christian saw a child walking between father and mother, who smiled at each other and their little one, and spoke pleasantly and kindly one to the other, his eyes would fill with tears. He would peep through cottage windows--nay, he would go into the cottages, where he was always welcome, and would furnish himself with proofs of domestic happiness which never gladdened his heart in his own home. With scanty food, with ragged clothes, the common peasant children were enjoying what was denied to him.

"He had one especial friend, a delicate child, who at length was laid on a bed of sickness from which he never rose. Master Christian, for a few weeks before this child died, visited him daily in my company, and took the poor little fellow many comforting things, for which the humble family were very grateful. My young master would stand by the bedside of the sick child, and witness, in silent pain, the evidences of paternal love which lightened the load of the little sufferer.

"The day before the child died we approached the cottage, and Master Christian peeped through the window. The child was dying, and by his bedside sat the sorrowing parents. The man's arm was round the woman's waist, and her head was resting on her husband's shoulder. We entered the cottage, and remained an hour, and as we walked home Master Christian said:

"'If I were dying, would my mamma and papa sit like that?'

"I could find no words to answer this question, which showed what was passing in Master Christian's mind.

"'Cannot you tell me,' said Master Christian, 'whether my rich parents would do for me what that little boy's poor parents are doing for him? It is so very much, Denise--so very, very much! It is more than money, for money is no use in Heaven, where he is going to. I wish my mamma and papa had been poor; then they would have lived together and have loved each other. Denise, tell me what it all means.'

"'Hush, Master Christian,' I said, trying to soothe him, for his little bosom was swelling with grief. 'When you are a man you will understand.'

"'I want to understand now--I want to understand now!' he cried. 'There is something very wicked about our house. I hate it--I hate it!'

"And he stamped his foot, and broke into a fit of sobbing so charged with sorrow that I could not help sobbing with him.

"Something of this must have reached his parents' ears, and how they suffered only themselves could have known. My master grew thin and wan; dark circles came round his eyes, and they often had a wild look in them which made me fear he was losing his senses. And my lady drooped and drooped, like a flower planted in unwholesome soil. Paler and quieter she grew every day; sweeter and more resigned, if that were possible, with every setting of the sun; so weak at last that she could not take her walk in the grounds.

"Sitting by the window, looking at the lovely sky, she said to me one peaceful evening:

"'I shall soon be there, Denise.'

"'Oh, my lady!' was all I could say.

"'It rejoices me to think,' she said, 'that this long agony is coming to an end. I pray that the dear child I shall leave behind me will not suffer as I have suffered, that his life may be happy, and his end be peaceful. Denise, my mother is in that invisible spirit-land to which I am going. When she sees me coming, will she not be frightened to meet me? for, if it had not been for her, all this misery would have been averted.'

"'My lady,' I said--so saint-like was her appearance that I could have knelt to her, 'let me go to my master and bring him to you.'

"'He would not come,' she said, 'at your bidding, Denise. Has he not been often entreated by our child?'

"Believing that this was a sign of relenting on her part, I said:

"'He knows that I dare not deceive him. He will come if I say you sent for him.'

"'Perhaps, perhaps,' she said; 'but I would not have him come yet. When I summon him here he will not refuse me.'

"'You will send for him one day, my lady?'

"'Yes, Denise, unless I die suddenly in my sleep--an end I have often prayed for. But this great blessing may be denied to me.'

"Ah, how sad were the days! It fills me with grief, even now, to speak of them. All kinds of strange notions entered my head during that time. I used to think it would be a mercy if a terrible flood were to come, or if someone would set fire to the villa. It would bring these two unhappy beings together for a few minutes at least. But nothing happened; the days were all alike, except that I saw very plainly that my lady could not live through another summer. She was fading away before my eyes.

"The end came at last, when Master Christian was nearly nine years old."