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Somewhat reassured, Lillian led her nurse to one of the old oaks beside the path, and pointed to a figure lying half hidden in the fern. A slender, swarthy boy of sixteen, with curly black hair, dark brows, and thick lashes, a singularly stern mouth, and a general expression of strength and pride, which added character to his boyish face and dignified his poverty. His dress betrayed that, being dusty and threadbare, his shoes much worn, and his possessions contained in the little bundle on which he pillowed his head. He was sleeping like one quite spent with weariness, and never stirred, though Hester bent away the ferns and examined him closely.

“He’s not dead, my deary; he’s asleep, poor lad, worn out with his day’s tramp, I dare say.” “I’m glad he’s alive, and I wish he’d wake up. He’s a pretty boy, isn’t he? See what nice hands he’s got, and his hair is more curly than mine. Make him open his eyes, Hester,” commanded the little lady, whose fear had given place to interest.

“Hush, he’s stirring. I wonder how he got in, and what he wants,” whispered Hester.

“I’ll ask him,” and before her nurse could arrest her, Lillian drew a tall fern softly over the sleeper’s face, laughing aloud as she did so.

The boy woke at the sound, and without stirring lay looking up at the lovely little face bent over him, as if still in a dream.

“Bella cara,” he said, in a musical voice. Then, as the child drew back abashed at the glance of his large, bright eyes, he seemed to wake entirely and, springing to his feet, looked at Hester with a quick, searching glance. Something in his face and air caused the woman to soften her tone a little, as she said gravely, “Did you wish to see any one at the Hall?”

“Yes. Is Lady Trevlyn here?” was the boy’s answer, as he stood cap in hand, with the smile fading already from his face.

“She is, but unless your business is very urgent you had better see Parks, the keeper; we don’t trouble my lady with trifles.”

“I’ve a note for her from Colonel Daventry; and as it is not a trifle, I’ll deliver it myself, if you please.”

Hester hesitated an instant, but Lillian cried out, “Mamma is close by, come and see her,” and led the way, beckoning as she ran.

The lad followed with a composed air, and Hester brought up the rear, taking notes as she went with a woman’s keen eye.

Lady Trevlyn, a beautiful, pale woman, delicate in health and melancholy in spirit, sat on a rustic seat with a book in her hand; not reading, but musing with an absent mind. As the child approached, she held out her hand to welcome her, but neither smiled nor spoke.

“Mamma, here is a–a person to see you,” cried Lillian, rather at a loss how to designate the stranger, whose height and gravity now awed her.

“A note from Colonel Daventry, my lady,” and with a bow the boy delivered the missive.

Scarcely glancing at him, she opened it and read:

My Dear Friend,

The bearer of this, Paul Jex, has been with me some months and has served me well. I brought him from Paris, but he is English born, and, though friendless, prefers to remain here, even after we leave, as we do in a week. When I last saw you you mentioned wanting a lad to help in the garden; Paul is accustomed to that employment, though my wife used him as a sort of page in the house. Hoping you may be able to give him shelter, I venture to send him. He is honest, capable, and trustworthy in all respects. Pray try him, and oblige,

Yours sincerely,

J. R. Daventry

“The place is still vacant, and I shall be very glad to give it to you, if you incline to take it,” said Lady Trevlyn, lifting her eyes from the note and scanning the boy’s face.