Part 33 (2/2)

”Well, child,” said Antonia, pausing in her work, and giving her one of her slow glances, ”I'm glad you're better; I never heard such distressing sobs. It's a great pity for you to cry so much, for you disfigure yourself; but I wish now that you are here you'd sit still, for I'd like to sketch you with that woebegone look. I never saw such a perfect ideal of true artistic beauty before.”

”Beauty?” said Nell, with a little laugh. ”But I'm called 'the ugly duckling'!”

”Charming!” exclaimed Antonia. ”I'll immortalise this 'ugly duckling.'

She shall be the foreground for these pine trees, and the imprisoned sunbeams can light her up from behind.”

Notwithstanding her sorrow, Nell found it intensely interesting to be made the foreground of a picture. She wondered how the imprisoned sunbeams would like their office of always s.h.i.+ning round her head. Nell was by no means vain. She honestly believed herself to be a hideous little girl, but it was refres.h.i.+ng once, as a change, to be spoken of as a true artistic beauty. She thought that she would learn the phrase, and repeat it over when she looked at herself in the gla.s.s, or when Kitty and Harry became more than usually aggravating about her personal appearance.

Meanwhile, the artist dashed in her colours with fiery speed. Nell sat perfectly still, and gazed straight at Antonia. Suddenly a flood of colour spread itself all over her face. Was Antonia the new owner of the Towers? If so, _she_ was the cause of poor Nell's heart-broken sobs.

The younger members of the Lorrimer household had solemnly vowed an undying feud against the new owner of the Towers. They had established this feud with the solemnity of a sacred rite. They had made a bonfire and stood round it in a circle and joined hands, and declared the following awful formula:--

”Neither I, nor my children, nor my grandchildren, nor any of my descendants, will ever speak a friendly word to the new owner of my ancestral home. I wish the ghost of my ancestor, Hugh Lorrimer, who died in the Wars of the Roses, to haunt the new owner and his family; and I solemnly declare that I never will have part or lot with him or his.”

This jargon had been made up by Harry, but each member of the feud, as they termed themselves, had solemnly repeated it, even down to little two-year-old Philip.

Suppose this wonderful, queer lady, who was making a sketch of Nell, was the new owner. In that case, it was Nell's duty to leave her at once.

”I want to ask you a question,” said Nell.

”Yes--don't stir, please--ask me anything you like.”

”Are you the new owner of my home?”

”I the new owner?” exclaimed Antonia. ”Heavens! no! I own nothing except this”--she clasped her colour-box and looked up with a face of ecstacy.

”I only want this,” she said, ”_and this_,” she continued, waving her hand with an impressive sweep which was meant to include both earth and sky.

She claimed a good deal, Nell thought; but, after all, that did not matter, as she had nothing to do with the feud.

”I'm glad you are not the owner,” said Nell, ”for, if you were, I should have been obliged to leave you.”

”Why so?”

”I and the others have sworn it solemnly round a bonfire.”

The words were so unusual that Antonia was greatly amused.

”You don't like to leave the Towers, then?” she said.

”Like it?” replied Nell. ”Would you, if you had lived here ever since the tenth century?”

”Mercy, child! how venerable I'd be!” exclaimed Antonia. She smiled in quite a tragic way--it was quite a new thing to see a smile on Antonia's face.

Nell looked at her very gravely. Her own sweet grey eyes grew full of tears.

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