"Good-bye, and thank you again so much," she says, earnestly. "And when I am well may I come and see you?"

"You may, indeed,"--warmly. "I shall be anxiously expecting you; I shall now"--with a gentle glance from her loving gray eyes--"have a double reason for wishing you soon well."

Moved by a sudden impulse, Lilian leans forward, and the two women as their lips meet seal a bond of friendship that lasts them all their lives.

For some time after they have left Cecilia's bower Lilian keeps silence, then all at once she says to Cyril, in tones of the liveliest reproach:

"I wouldn't have believed it of you."

"Would you not?" replies he, somewhat startled by this extraordinary address, being plunged in meditation of his own. "You don't say so! But what is it then you can't believe?"

"I think"--with keen upbraiding--"you might have told _me_."

"So I should, my dear, instantly, if I only knew what it was," growing more and more bewildered. "If you don't want to bring on brain-fever, my good Lilian, you will explain what you mean."

"You must have guessed what a treat a _real_ love-affair would be to me, who never knew a single instance of one," says Lilian, "and yet you meanly kept it from me."

"Kept what?" innocently, though he has the grace to color hotly.

"Don't be deceitful, Cyril, whatever you are. I say it was downright unkind to leave me in ignorance of the fact that all this time there was a real, unmistakable, _bona fide_ lover near me, close to me, at my _very elbow_, as one might say."

"I know I am happy enough to be at your elbow just now," says Cyril, humbly, "but, to confess the truth, I never yet dared to permit myself to look upon you openly with lover's eyes. I am still at a loss to know how you discovered the all-absorbing pa.s.sion that I--that _any one_ fortunate enough to know you--must feel for you."

"Don't be a goose," says Miss Chesney, with immeasurable scorn. "Don't you think I have wit enough to see you are head over ears in love with that charming, beautiful creature down there in The Cottage? I don't wonder at that: I only wonder why you did not tell me of it when we were such good friends."

"Are you quite sure I had anything to tell you?"

"Quite; I have eyes and I have ears. Did I not see how you looked at her, and how she blushed all up to the roots of her soft hair when you did so? and when you were placing me in the carriage she said, 'Oh, Cyril!' and what was the meaning of that, Master Chetwoode, eh? She is the prettiest woman I ever saw," says Lilian, enthusiastically. "To see her is indeed to love her. I hope _you_ love her properly, with all your heart?"

"I do," says Cyril, simply. "I sometimes think, Lilian, it cannot be for one's happiness to love as I do."

"Oh, this is delightful!" cries Lilian, clapping her hands. "I am glad you are in earnest about it; and I am glad you are both so good-looking.

I don't think ugly people ought to fall in love: they quite destroy the romance of the whole thing."

"Thanks awfully," says Cyril. "I shall begin to hold up my head now you have said a word in my favor. But,"--growing serious--"you really like her, Lilian? How can you be sure you do after so short an acquaintance?"

"I always like a person at once or not at all. I cannot explain why; it is a sort of instinct. Florence I detested at first sight; your Mrs.

Arlington I love. What is her name?"

"Cecilia."

"A pretty name, and suited to her: with her tender beautiful face she looks a saint. You are very fortunate, Cyril: something tells me you cannot fail to be happy, having gained the love of such a woman."

"Dear little sibyl," says Cyril, lifting one of her hands to his lips, "I thank you for your prophecy. It does me good only to hear you say so."

CHAPTER XXI.

"As on her couch of pain a child was lying."--_Song._

Lilian's injury turns out to be not only a sprain, but a very bad one, and strict quiet and rest for the sufferer are enjoined by the fat little family doctor. So for several days she lies supine and obedient upon a sofa in Lady Chetwoode's boudoir, and makes no moan even when King Bore with all his horrible train comes swooping down upon her. He is in greatest force at such times as when all the others are down-stairs dining and she is (however regretfully) left to her own devices. The servants pa.s.sing to and fro with dishes sometimes leave the doors open, and then the sound of merry voices and laughter, that seems more frequent because she is at a distance and cannot guess the cause of their merriment, steals up to her, as she lies dolefully upon her pillows with her hands clasped behind her sunny head.

When four days of penance have so pa.s.sed, Lilian grows _triste_, then argumentative, then downright irritable, distracting Lady Chetwoode by asking her perpetually, with tears in her eyes, when she thinks she will be well. "She is so tired of lying down. Her foot must be nearly well now. It does not hurt her nearly so much. She is sure, if she might only use it a little now and then, it would be well in half the time," and so on.

At last, when a week has dragged itself to a close, Lilian turns her cajoleries upon the doctor, who is her sworn va.s.sal, and coaxes and worries him into letting her go down-stairs, if only to dine.

"Eh? So soon pining for freedom? Why, bless me, you have been only two or three days laid up."

"Six long, _long_ days, dear doctor."

"And now you would run the risk of undoing all my work. I cannot let you put your foot to the ground for a long time yet. Well,"--softened by a beseeching glance,--"if you must go down I suppose you must; but no walking, mind! If I catch you walking I shall put you into irons and solitary confinement for a month. I dare say, Lady Chetwoode,"--smiling archly down upon Miss Chesney's slight figure,--"there will be some young gentleman to be found in the house not only able but willing to carry to the dining-room so fair a burden!"

"We shall be able to manage that easily. And it will be far pleasanter for her to be with us all in the evening. Guy, or her cousin Mr.

Chesney, can carry her down."

"I think, auntie," speaking very slowly, "I should prefer Archibald."

"Eh! eh! you hear, madam, she prefers Archibald,--happy Archibald!"

cackles the little doctor, merrily, being immensely tickled at his own joke.

"Archibald Chesney is her cousin," replies Lady Chetwoode, with a sigh, gazing rather wistfully at the girl's flushed, averted face.

So Lilian gains the day, and Sir Guy coming into his mother's boudoir half an hour later is told the glad news.

"Dr. Bland thinks her so much better," Lady Chetwoode tells him. "But she is not to let her foot touch the ground; so you must be careful, darling," to Lilian. "Will you stay with her a little while, Guy? I must go and write some letters."

"I shan't be in the least lonely by myself, auntie," says Lilian, smoothly, letting her fingers stray meaningly to the magazine beside her; yet in spite of this chilling remark Sir Guy lingers. He has taken up his station on the hearth-rug and is standing with his back to the fire, his arms crossed behind him, and instead of seeking to amuse his wounded ward is apparently sunk in reverie. Suddenly, after a protracted silence on both sides, he raises his head, and regarding her earnestly, says:

"May I take you down to dinner to-night, Lilian?"

"Thank you," formally: "it is very kind of you to offer, Sir Guy. But Archie was here a moment ago, and he has promised to take that trouble upon himself." Then, in a low but perfectly distinct tone, "I can trust Archie!"

Although no more is said, Guy thoroughly understands her thoughts have traveled backward to that one unlucky night when, through a kiss, he sinned past all chance of pardon. As his own mind follows hers, the dark color mounts slowly to his very brow.

"Am I never to be forgiven for that one offense?" he asks, going up to her couch and looking gravely down upon her.

"I have forgiven, but unhappily I cannot forget," returns she, gently, without letting her eyes meet his. Then, with an air of deliberation, she raises her magazine, and he leaves the room.

So Sir Guy retires from the contest, and Archibald is elected to the coveted position of carrier to her capricious majesty, and this very night, to her great joy, brings her tenderly, carefully, to the dining-room, where a sofa has been prepared for her reception.

It so happens that three days later Archibald is summoned to London on business, and departs, leaving with Lilian his faithful promise to be back in time to perform his evening duty toward her.

But man's proposals, as we know, are not always carried out, and Chesney's fall lamentably short; as just at seven o'clock a telegram arriving for Lady Chetwoode tells her he has been unexpectedly detained in town by urgent matters, and cannot by any possibility get home till next day.

Cyril is dining with some bachelor friends near Truston: so Lady Chetwoode, who is always thoughtful, bethinks her there is no one to bring Lilian down to dinner except Guy. This certainly, for some inward reason, troubles her. She sighs a little as she remembers Lilian's marked preference for Chesney's a.s.sistance, then she turns to her maid--the telegram has reached her as she is dressing for dinner--and says to her: