Wild Heather. Meade L. T.

you lived at High View I have been wanting, and wanting in vain, to make your acquaintance?"

      "Oh, but what can you mean?" I asked, looking into that charming and beautiful face and wondering what the lady was thinking of. "Would not Aunt Penelope let you? Surely you must have known that I should have been only too proud?"

      "My dear, we won't discuss what your aunt wished to conceal from you. Now that you have come to live with your father, and now that you are my near neighbour, I hope to see a great deal of you. Your aunt was doubtless right in keeping you a good deal to herself. You see, dear, it's like this. You have been brought up unspotted from the world."

      "I like the world," I answered; "I don't think it's a bad place. I am very much interested in London, and I am exceedingly glad to have met you again. Don't you remember, Lady Carrington, how tightly I held your hand on that dreadful day when I was first brought to Aunt Penelope?"

      "I shall never forget the pressure of your little hand. But now I see you are quite ready to come upstairs. Come along, then – Sir John may be in at any moment, and he never likes to have his lunch kept waiting."

      Lady Carrington's beautiful bedroom was exactly over her sitting-room. There I saw myself in a sort of glow of colour, all lovely and iridescent and charming. There was something remarkable about the room, for it had a strange gift of putting grace – yes, absolute grace – into your clothes. Even my shabby brown frock seemed to be illuminated, and as to my face, it glowed with faint colour, and my eyes became large and bright. I washed my hands and brushed back my soft, dark hair. Then I returned to the drawing-room with Lady Carrington.

      CHAPTER VI

      A tall man was standing on the hearthrug when I came in. There was a cheerful fire burning in the grate, and he was standing with his back to it, and apparently enjoying the pleasant glow which emanated from its bright depths. There was also a young man in the room who was nearly as tall as the elder gentleman. The younger man had very dark eyes and an olive complexion, straight, rather handsome features, and a strong chin and a good mouth.

      "John," said Lady Carrington, "here is little Heather."

      "How do you do, my dear – how do you do?" said Sir John.

      He came forward as he spoke and wrung my hand, looking into my eyes with a curious mingling of affection and amusement.

      "Ah!" he said; "you have grown a good bit since that wonderful night long ago, eh, Heather?"

      "I am grown up," I answered, trying to speak proudly, and yet feeling, all of a sudden, quite inclined to cry.

      "Yes, of course, you're grown up," responded Sir John, and then his wife introduced the strange gentleman to me. His name was Captain Carbury, but when the Carringtons spoke to him they addressed him as "Vernon." He had a nice, frank manner, and it was he who was deputed to take me into the next room to lunch.

      "I have heard a lot about you," he said. "The Carringtons have been quite keen about you. They've been wondering what day you would arrive, and making up all sorts of stories about what you'd look like, and your life in the past and what your life in the future will be."

      "Heather, you must not mind Vernon, he always talks nonsense," said Lady Carrington. "Will you have clear or thick soup, dear? We always help ourselves at lunch, it makes the meal so much less formal."

      I said I would have thick soup, and Captain Carbury took clear. He looked at me again once or twice, and I thought that his expression was somewhat quizzical, but, all the same, I liked him.

      I had made in the course of my life a little gallery of heroes; they were of all sorts and descriptions. In that gallery my father held the foremost place, he was the soldier par excellence, the hero above all other heroes. Then there were splendid persons whose names were mentioned in history. The great Duke of Marlborough was one, and Sir Walter Raleigh, and King Edward the First, and King Henry the Fourth. And there were minor lights, great men, too, in their way, statesmen and ambassadors and discoverers of new worlds. But besides the historical personages, there were those few whom I knew personally. Amongst these was one of the many "Jonases" who had lived with Aunt Penelope, and who was admitted into a somewhat dark and shadowy part of my gallery.

      He was a very ugly Jonas, and slightly – quite slightly – deformed; that is, one shoulder was hitched up a good bit higher than the other. In consequence, he never felt happy or comfortable in buttons, and used to coax me to let him play with me in the garden in the dress he wore at home, which was loose and unwieldy, but, nevertheless, fitted that misshapen, poor shoulder. Aunt Penelope had been very angry with him for not appearing in his buttons costume, and she was not the least concerned when he told her that it made his shoulder ache; she was more determined than ever that he should wear his livery, and never be seen out of it while in her employ. He told me, that poor Buttons, that he would have to wear it, notwithstanding the pain, for the very little money he earned helped his mother at home. It was after he said this, and after I found out that what he said was true, that I put him into my gallery of heroes. He never knew that he was there. He became ill quite suddenly of some sort of inflammation of the spine, and was taken away to the hospital to die. I wanted very badly to see him when I heard he was so ill, but Aunt Penelope would not hear of it. Then I gave her a message for him.

      "Tell him, if you are going yourself," I said, "that he is in my gallery of heroes. He will know what it means."

      But Aunt Penelope forgot to give the message, so that poor Jonas never knew.

      But I had other heroes also. There was a pale young curate, like the celebrated curate in the song, and my heart went out to him – my girlish heart – in full measure, and I put him into my gallery right away; there I gave him a foremost place, although I never spoke to him in my young life, and I don't think, as far as I remember, that his eyes ever met mine.

      And now last, but by no means least, I put Captain Carbury into my gallery of heroes, and as I did so I felt my heart beating with pleasure, and I looked full up into my hero's face and smiled at him with such a look of contentment, admiration, and satisfaction that he smiled back again.

      "What a nice child you are," he said. "I wonder what you are thinking about?"

      Some visitors had now come in and had joined Sir John and Lady Carrington in the drawing-room, and Captain Carbury and I were alone.

      "You ought to be very proud," I said, lowering my voice to meet his.

      "What about?" he asked.

      "Why, this," I answered; "I have done you a tremendous honour."

      "Have you, indeed? I can assure you I am pleased and – quite flattered. But do tell me what it is."

      "I have just put you, Captain Carbury, into my gallery of heroes."

      "You have put me into what?" said the young man. He sat down by my side and lowered his voice. "You have put me into what, Miss Grayson?"

      "I have a gallery," I said, "and it is full of heroes. It, of course, lives in my imagination. You have just gone in; those who go in never come out again. There are a great many people in my gallery."

      "Oh, but I say, this is interesting, and quite fascinating. Please tell me who else holds that place of vantage."

      I mentioned the Duke of Marlborough and Sir Walter Raleigh and a few of the heroes of old, but I said nothing about father, nor about the pale curate, although I did mention Jonas.

      "Who is Jonas?" asked Captain Carbury.

      "Jonas is no longer in this world. When he was here he was a very great hero."

      "But what was he? Army, navy, church, or what?"

      "Oh, nothing of the sort," I answered; "he was only our Buttons, and he had one shoulder much higher than the other. I put him in because he bore the pain of his livery so bravely. You see, he had to wear his livery, or Aunt Penelope would have dismissed him. He wore it because he wanted the money to help his mother. I call him a real hero – don't you?"

      "I do. And what have I done, may I ask, to be such a privileged person?"

      "You haven't done much yet," I answered, "but I think you can do a great deal. For instance,