Averil. Rosa Nouchette Carey

grieve that monsieur has gone," were Annette's first words as Averil re-entered the room. "I look upon him as my first friend. Do you know, I took him for my cousin? When Clotilde announced an English gentlemen I thought, of course, that it was he. Forgive me, my cousin, if I make you sad; people are so different; with some it is always silence—it is as though speech would desecrate their dead; but for me, I am forever speaking of my mother to Clotilde, to Manon, even to myself. Why should the name we love most grow strange to one's lips?"

      "You are quite right," returned Averil, softly; "if I have not talked much about my dear father, it is for other reasons." Here she stammered, hesitated, and then changed the subject.

      "Annette, when I read your letter to him I grew quite sad. 'You must bring her home to me.' That is what I told my good old friend Mr. Harland. 'We must make her forget her troubles: she shall be like my own sister.' Shall it be so between us, dear? Do you think you can care for a poor crooked little body like me?" and her dark sad eyes rested for a moment yearningly on her young cousin's face.

      "Oh, I shall love you—you will see how well I shall love you," returned Annette, throwing her arms impulsively round Averil. "What does it matter how you look, my cousin? Why is it you make such a speech to me? You have kind eyes—I can trust them. Monsieur tells me you have a good heart—is it not proof that you have written me that letter, that you permit me to call this home? Let us not make any more speeches to each other; it is all understood between us that we are friends."

      Averil's grave face softened. "I have one faithful little friend already; how pleased I shall be to have another! As I told you, I do so like taking care of people."

      "Oh, but it is I who must wait on you," returned Annette, seriously. "There is a look on your face, my cousin, as though you were always thinking; it is not a frown," as Averil looked amused, "and yet your forehead contracts itself—so," drawing her brows together; "it gives one a fatigued sense, as though you were too heavily burdened; and you are grave, and yet you have never known what it is to be poor."

      "No; but I have sometimes forgotten to be grateful for my riches. Annette, you are a shrewd observer; no one here notices my gravity. But I must not let you go on talking like this. I want to show you your room, and then you can make any change you like in your dress; not that it matters to-night"—as Annette's face fell a little—"for, unless Lottie join us, you and I will be alone. Will you come with me, dear?" touching her arm, as Annette appeared lost in thought.

      The staircase at Redfern House was wide and handsome, and the spacious landing was fitted up prettily with cabinets of china and stands of flowers.

      "I have chosen a room near mine," continued Averil, quietly; "it is not very large, but I think you will find it very comfortable."

      "Comfortable! oh, it is far, far too grand for me. You must have made a mistake my cousin;" and Annette's eyes grew large and round. Perhaps, if Averil had seen the girl's sleeping-room in the Rue St. Joseph, she might have understood the situation more perfectly; but to her luxurious ideas there was nothing out of the common in the fresh cretonne hangings, the pretty, well-appointed furniture, the couch and writing-table. To be sure, there was nothing wanting to any young lady's comfort; she had herself placed all kinds of knickknacks on the toilet-table.

      Annette stood by in puzzled ecstasy as her cousin opened the wardrobe and drawers and then pointed out to her the tasteful little work-basket and blotting-case. "You will find everything ready for your use. I hope I have not forgotten anything. It has been such a pleasure to me fitting up this room. Now I will leave you for a little while to rest and refresh yourself, and then we will have some more talk;" and with a nod and a smile Averil withdrew to her own room.