CHRISTMAS had now passed: on the morning of that day they had all attended church, then walked to a pretty, small village on the property, to visit several of the cottagers; Mr. Howard having, the day before, sent money and a supply of blankets and of coats to those that required such assistance. In the evening a mutual exchange of gifts took place at Woodlands, which greatly interested the young people; but the day was on the whole a trying one to Leila; she had not regained her former spirits, and it seemed as if those particular days to which she had looked forward with the most pleasure, seemed still more to recall the memory of her late trial. A short time after Christmas, the expected party assembled at Woodlands. The Selbys were the first to arrive. Captain Selby was delighted to see again his little fairy queen, as he called Leila. Louisa seemed improved, taller, and with more animation of manner; and the meeting between Leila and her was most affectionate on both sides. Louisa was soon taken to the conservatory, followed by Selina and Matilda; Louisa stealing many a look at Selina, who had long been a subject of much interest to her, though not unmixed with dread, lest she should too entirely usurp her former place with Leila; but the kind reception she met with greatly reassured her. She struggled with her natural timidity, and Matilda did much to establish something like ease between the parties: she eagerly introduced Louisa to all her former favourites amongst the pets; and seemed most anxious to draw her attention to one of the parrots in particular.

“How this one must have grown,” Louisa observed; “I scarcely remember it: what a pretty bird!”

The parrot instantly flew to the side of its cage, exclaiming, “I am Louisa’s pretty bird, take me home—pray take me home!”

Matilda clapped her hands. “That is just what I wanted it to do—yes, it is for you; Leila has taught it to say that—it is to be your parrot.”

Louisa was still holding Leila’s hand, and trying to thank her, when Leila was called away. The Herberts had arrived. She found Mina eagerly watching for her at the drawing-room door, all her usual shyness having given way before the interest of the moment. The meeting between them was of the most affectionate nature; but no one till that moment had suspected the depth of feeling with which Leila had looked forward to seeing Mrs. Herbert again. “Mamma, mamma!” she exclaimed, as clasped in Mrs. Herbert’s arms, she hid her face on her shoulder, and struggled to retain her tears. Mrs. Herbert was much affected, and no real mother could have more fondly returned her caresses; but seeing the struggle Leila was making to restrain her emotion, she called her son Charles to her side, and putting Leila’s hand in his, she said with a cheerful voice,—

“I must not forget my dear child has also a brother to receive, who longs to know her.”

But Leila was disappointed; Charles was not such as she had expected to have seen, and looking up in his face she said hastily, “You are too tall to be my brother.”

The bright, sparkling look of pleasure with which he had approached to meet her, faded before this reception; he too was disappointed, but he only said with much gentleness, “That is a fault I cannot change; I can only try to make you forget it.”

And he did manage to do so in a wonderfully short space of time, for he had a good deal to overcome. Leila had expected to have seen a little boy such as Alfred, and had been thinking a great deal of her little brother, and how she would watch over him, and keep him out of scrapes; she was quite bewildered when she saw before her a youth apparently about sixteen, and it was not in the first moments of disappointment, that his slight graceful figure, his beaming countenance, and deep blue eyes, so full of sweetness and animation, had any charm for her; but before the day was over she had told Mina in strict confidence, that she did not think Charles nearly so tall as she had done at first, and that she did not know why it was, but she was not half so frightened for him as she expected she would have been; and the pleasant surprise of next morning still further promoted intimacy between them. Leila was called to the window by Selina to admire a beautiful small Arabian pony, which Charles was leading up the approach towards the house; the side-saddle and embroidered saddle-cloth seemed to say it was intended for a lady’s use; and what was Leila’s astonishment and delight, when she found it was a present from Mr. and Mrs. Herbert to herself; the beautiful saddle-cloth the work of Mrs. Herbert and Mina. Leila had no words to express what she felt; for to learn to ride, to have a pony of her own, to accompany her papa in his rides, had long been the earnest wish of her heart. Charles was immediately constituted riding-master to the whole of the young party; a busy time he had, and with strict impartiality did he fulfil his appointed duty; one point of difference only did he insist on, he particularly requested that Leila alone was to speak to the pony and caress it, and it was only to be from her hand it was to receive a piece of bread on the commencement of its daily labours, and also at their close. Selina had communicated to Charles the sad story of Peggy Dobie and the faithful Dash; of all Leila had suffered, and was still suffering, from their loss; and he felt that could she become attached to a new object, it might in some degree interest her mind: but though Leila soon became fond of her pretty Selim, no new favourite could fill Dash’s place to her; he could never be forgotten.

Many days passed pleasantly away, varied by rides, and walks, and reading aloud. In the evening there generally was music. Mrs. Herbert had a fine voice, which had been much cultivated, and Charles and Mina did great credit to her instructions; the young people thought there could be nothing more beautiful than the trios Charles and Mina sang with their mamma Mrs. Herbert had proposed to have a singing class, and to instruct the whole group; but Leila alone had become her pupil. Louisa had very little genius for music; so little, that her mamma did not wish her to give much time to its cultivation. Selina had been forbidden to attempt singing for some years, her voice, even in speaking, being still weak; and Matilda, Mrs. Stanley said, was, from her habits of inattention, too far back in more necessary studies to be allowed this indulgence.

Leila made considerable progress; from her having practised the guitar so much during her residence on the island, she had acquired rather unusual proficiency on that instrument, and her voice and taste being naturally good, Mrs. Herbert found her both a willing and a successful pupil. Matilda had often entreated her mamma to allow her also to learn the guitar, for Matilda was ever eager for something new, always sure that what she had no knowledge of would be much more easily acquired than that which she was then studying; but Mrs. Stanley had always steadily refused this request, though, at the same time, assuring Matilda that, as soon as by steady and continued application, she had made that progress in her other studies which her years and natural good abilities admitted of, she should have every indulgence in the cultivation of her musical taste. It had been quite a trial to Matilda when first told that she was not to be allowed to take advantage of Mrs. Herbert’s kind offer of instruction; and her temper had been on the point of giving way, but a look of entreaty from Selina had arrested the angry words upon her lips; she had hastily quitted the room, and in a very few minutes had returned with all her usual liveliness and good-humour.

Mrs. Herbert had considerably regained her health and spirits, and with the tranquil gentleness of past sorrow there was a warmth of affection and winning sweetness of manner which each day endeared her more and more to Leila, who never was happier than when, with her own transparent openness of character, she was pouring all her thoughts, feelings, and wishes into Mrs. Herbert’s willing ear.

“I have never told you,” she said one morning, as they sat alone together, (she on a low stool looking up into Mrs. Herbert’s face,) “I have never told you how very sorry I was afterwards for having made that rude speech to Charles when I first saw him; but I was so very much disappointed, I could not help saying it; I had been thinking so much of having a little brother, and of how kind I should be to him, and how he would grow up to love me. And when I saw that tall Charles, I could scarcely keep from crying, for since my great trial of poor Peggy Dobie, and my dear, dear Dash, I don’t know why it is, but so often I am ready to cry when any thing like another trial comes to me—but this has not turned out a trial after all.”

“So you are getting reconciled then, my love, to Charles being tall, and don’t wish so much now that you had a little brother rather?”

“No, indeed I don’t—I like it much better; for Charles is so kind, and takes such care of me, and he is so fond of Mina; he is an excellent brother; and don’t you think he is an excellent son too? He often looks at you just as I do at my papa. I am sure he is thinking then that you never can know how much he loves you. I dare say Charles never does any thing very wrong; only a little wrong, I suppose, for papa always says no one is quite perfect.”

Mrs. Herbert smiled. “No, my dear Leila, I do not say Charles is by any means perfect; he has faults, still I may say that he is one who has never yet given us cause for serious uneasiness.

“I was sure of that,” Leila answered, “for he always looks as if he could not bear to vex any one; I often wish to ask him to forgive me for what I said: but I don’t know why, I often feel a little shy with Charles, though I like so much to talk to him. I hope it will go off in time, for I should like to be able to tell him every thing I think, just as I do to you; if he had been a little boy I would not have cared to do this, I would only have said little things to make him laugh and to amuse him; so, as Nurse always says, every thing in this world turns out for the best, if we would only remember this, and not fret. But,” she continued, “when I said just now that I told you every thing, I forgot that there is one thing I cannot tell you.”

“And what is that?” Mrs. Herbert inquired. “Why should you be afraid to tell me every thing?”

“I am not afraid,” Leila answered; “but it is not the right time yet to tell. Perhaps I shall be disappointed myself, and then I need not tell you, for it would only make you sorry; but if it comes up it is for you. Now I must go to the conservatory; I go there every morning alone, but don’t ask me why I go.”

Leila stood in the conservatory, earnestly contemplating a flower-pot she held in her hand, till startled by a voice behind her.

“How now, lady bright, gazing on brown earth, and so many beautiful blooming flowers around you?”

She looked up; it was Charles who had entered the conservatory unobserved, and was bending over her shoulder.

“Oh, Charles,” she said, “I am so happy, so very happy; so thankful.”

“Thankful,” he replied; “thankful for small things indeed, for I can see nothing.”

“Nothing! look again, Charles; only look here—don’t you see?”

“No, I see nothing, and unluckily I have not got my spectacles at hand.” But observing Leila’s heightened colour, and the expression of her face, he added in quite a different tone, “Yes, I do see two tiny little green leaves just peeping above the brown earth; but they will require all your tender care to rear them. Why are they so precious to you, Leila? But do not tell me if you would rather not.”

She lifted her eyes to his face. “Yes, I should like to tell you—” she hesitated, then continued in an agitated voice, “it is seeds from the flower I planted on Clara’s grave, and perhaps more will spring.”

Charles’s colour mounted to his forehead; he took her hand. “Oh, Leila,” he said, “dear Leila, how I have longed for this moment, how I have wished you to talk to me of Clara. Clara, my own sweet sister, my lost Clara; I seem to see her still, how lovely she was!”

“You knew her then,” Leila said eagerly; “you remember her; but how—were you not in England?”

“No; from our being up the country and in a good climate, I was nearly ten years old before it was thought necessary to send me to England; never can I forget the first time I saw Clara. I was taken into the room where mamma was lying on her bed, so pale, so beautiful, only the slightest tinge of colour in her cheek. Clara and Mina lay on each side of her; she took my hand, a bright flush came into her face for a moment, ‘My little son,’ she said, ‘may God watch over you and preserve you to be a protector to your sisters; if these dear ones live to be sent home to England, you will be already there. Promise me that when you are together, you will watch over them, and always endeavour by your own example to teach them to love and serve their heavenly Father. May you never, dear Charles, forget this moment; may my earnest request be always remembered, when you yourself are tempted to do what is wrong.”

“And were you sent away from them immediately?” Leila inquired. “How melancholy this must have been for you!”

“Oh no, not immediately; Clara and Mina were three years old before I left India. They could talk and run about. In the cool season I used to make them run races in the garden with each other. They often laughed so at my constantly mistaking one for the other, for I never could distinguish them, till mamma put a small gold chain round Clara’s neck.”

“Was it this?” Leila said, as she took a chain from the folds of her dress, and gave it into his hand.

“Yes, the very same; but there was no locket suspended from it.”

Leila touched the spring, it opened.

“My own mamma,” he said, “and how beautiful! and those laughing eyes—yes, I remember how she used to look in that way, when she was playing with us all. And this was Clara’s locket—my own dear sister, and now, alas! only one remains to me.”

Leila coloured. “Then you will not have me for a sister,” she said, in a low-toned voice.

Charles’s countenance brightened, as in his usual lively manner he said, “I thought I was too tall to be your brother.”

“Oh, don’t, don’t say that,” Leila exclaimed; “you don’t know how sorry I was afterwards, and how often I have wished to ask you to forgive me. Will you?” and she put her hand into his. “Yes, I see you will, I see it in your eyes. I always know when people are loving me again by their eyes.” Selina’s voice was heard calling her; she ran off, but returned for a moment to say, “Do not tell mamma about the seeds; it is to be a surprise to her. I have planted four, and if more spring, I should like so much to give you one also.”