The Evil Guest | Page 5

of kindness--and so it was with
mademoiselle's bouquet and gentle kiss. Mrs. Marston's heart was
touched; her eyes filled with bright tears; she smiled gratefully upon
her fair and humble companion, and as she smiled, her tears overflowed,
and she wept in silence for some minutes.
"My poor mademoiselle," she said, at last, "you are so very, very kind."
Mademoiselle said nothing; she lowered her eyes, and pressed the poor
lady's hand.
Apparently to interrupt an embarrassing silence, and to give a more
cheerful tone to their little interview, the governess, in a gay tone, on a

sudden said--
"And so, madame, we are to have a visitor, Miss Rhoda tells me--a
baronet, is he not?"
"Yes, indeed, mademoiselle--Sir Wynston Berkley, a gay London
gentleman, and a cousin of Mr. Marston's," she replied.
"Ha--a cousin!" exclaimed the young lady, with a little more surprise in
her tone than seemed altogether called for--"a cousin? oh, then, that is
the reason of his visit. Do, pray, madame, tell me all about him; I am so
much afraid of strangers, and what you call men of the world. Oh, dear
Mrs. Marston, I am not worthy to be here, and he will see all that in a
moment; indeed, indeed, I am afraid. Pray tell me all about him."
She said this with a simplicity which made the elder lady smile, and
while mademoiselle re-adjusted the tiny flowers which formed the
bouquet she had just presented to her, Mrs. Marston good-naturedly
recounted to her all she knew of Sir Wynston Berkley, which, in
substance, amounted to no more than we have already stated. When she
concluded, the young Frenchwoman continued for some time silent,
still busy with her flowers. But, suddenly, she heaved a deep sigh, and
shook her head.
"You seem disquieted, mademoiselle," said Mrs. Marston, in a tone of
kindness.
"I am thinking, madame," she said, still looking upon the flowers which
she was adjusting, and again sighing profoundly, "I am thinking of
what you said to me a week ago; alas!"
"I do not remember what it was, my good mademoiselle--nothing, I am
sure, that ought to grieve you--at least nothing that was intended to
have that effect," replied the lady, in a tone of gentle encouragement.
"No, not intended, madame," said the young Frenchwoman,
sorrowfully.

"Well, what was it? Perhaps you misunderstood; perhaps I can explain
what I said," replied Mrs. Marston, affectionately.
"Ah, madame, you think--you think I am unlucky," answered the young
lady, slowly and faintly.
"Unlucky! Dear mademoiselle, you surprise me," rejoined her
companion.
"I mean--what I mean is this, madame; you date unhappiness--if not its
beginning, at least its great aggravation and increase," she answered,
dejectedly, "from the time of my coming here, madame; and though I
know you are too good to dislike me on that account, yet I must, in
your eyes, be ever connected with calamity, and look like an ominous
thing."
"Dear mademoiselle, allow no such thought to enter your mind. You do
me great wrong, indeed you do," said Mrs. Marston, laying her hand
upon the young lady's, kindly.
There was a silence for a little time, and the elder lady resumed:--"I
remember now what you allude to, dear mademoiselle--the increased
estrangement, the widening separation which severs me from one
unutterably dear to me--the first and bitter disappointment of my life,
which seems to grow more hopelessly incurable day by day."
Mrs. Marston paused, and, after a brief silence, the governess said:--
"I am very superstitious myself, dear madame, and I thought I must
have seemed to you an inauspicious inmate--in short, unlucky--as I
have said; and the thought made me very unhappy--so unhappy, that I
was going to leave you, madame--I may now tell you frankly--going
away; but you have set my doubts at rest, and I am quite happy again."
"Dear mademoiselle," cried the lady, tenderly, and rising, as she spake,
to kiss the cheek of her humble friend; "never--never speak of this
again. God knows I have too few friends on earth, to spare the kindest
and tenderest among them all. No, no. You little think what comfort I

have found in your warm-hearted and ready sympathy, and how dearly
I prize your affection, my poor mademoiselle."
The young Frenchwoman rose, with downcast eyes, and a dimpling,
happy smile; and, as Mrs. Marston drew her affectionately toward her,
and kissed her, she timidly returned the embrace of her kind patroness.
For a moment her graceful arms encircled her, and she whispered to her,
"Dear madame, how happy--how very happy you make me."
Had Ithuriel touched with his spear the beautiful young woman, thus
for a moment, as it seemed, lost in a trance of gratitude and love, would
that angelic form have stood the test unscathed? A spectator, marking
the