A Secret Inheritance. B. L. Farjeon

shall not chide you if you will promise not to try to force yourself into strength. The wisest and cleverest man cannot do that. But perhaps you are weary of us, and wish to run away?"

      "I should be content to remain here for ever, Lauretta."

      "Well, then," she said gaily, "be patient for a few days, and, as my dear father would say, do not be inconsistent." She uttered the last four words in playful imitation of her father's voice, and I was enchanted with this revealment of innocent lightness in her nature. "But I am losing sight of his admonition."

      "He bade you do something?"

      "Yes; he said you might like me to read or play for you. Which shall I do?"

      "Neither, Lauretta."

      "Can I do nothing?"

      "Yes; talk to me, Lauretta."

      I was never tired of uttering her name. It was the sweetest word in all the languages.

      "Well, then," she said, clasping her hands in her lap, she had gently withdrawn the hand I held, "what shall I talk about?"

      "About your friends. When I am strong, I shall want to know them. Introduce me to them beforehand."

      "I introduce you, then," she said with tender gravity, without losing touch of her lighter mood, "to everybody."

      "Is everybody your friend, Lauretta?"

      "Yes, everybody--truly! and it makes me very glad to know it."

      "But there are special ones, Lauretta."

      "Of course there are special ones. First, my dearest."

      "Your parents?"

      "Yes, they are the first, the best, the dearest. It is well known; my mother is an angel."

      "I honour them, Lauretta."

      "All do. That is why people like me; because I belong to them, and they to me."

      "You are loved for yourself, Lauretta."

      "No," she said, with pretty wilfulness, "because of them. Then there is Father Daniel, a saint, my mother says; then Eric and Emilius--and that is all, I think, who can be called special."

      "Eric and Emilius?" I said, in the form of a question.

      "Yes, they are brothers, handsome, brave, and strong. You will like them, I am sure you will."

      Handsome, brave, and strong! I gave Lauretta a searching look, and she returned it smilingly. There was no blush, no self-consciousness. Why, then, should I feel disturbed? Why should Eric and Emilius become established in my mind as barriers to the happiness for which I yearned. I did not dare to trust myself to ask for information of these friends of Lauretta, so handsome, brave, and strong--I was fearful that my voice might betray me; and as I could converse on no other topic with ease, I remained silent while Lauretta chatted on sweetly and artlessly.