rather say them to you alone, without even Sophia Maria listening.”
Then Nan’s little white face lit up.
“Phoebe,” she said, “Mr. Pryor and I have something most important to say to each other. Be sure you take great care of Maria, and don’t let her catch cold.”
Phoebe promised, and Mr. Pryor and Nan, hand in hand, walked in the direction of the Hadleigh Woods.
They walked in absolute silence until they reached the woods, and then their steps became slower, and Nan looked up into the face of her companion and said:
“I wish you would tell me. What did mother say?”
“My dear Nan, your mother knew very well that the day was soon coming when God would send for her. She did not like to talk to you about it, although she often tried to; she was anxious about you, but not very anxious.”
“I wonder mother was not very anxious when she thought of leaving me so far, far behind,” said Nan.
“You see, she did not think that, for in reality those who go to God are not separated very far from those they leave.”
“Then is mother near me?”
“You cannot see her, nor can you realise it, but I should not be surprised if she were quite near you.”
“She knows all about my black dress and my crape?” said Nan. “Phoebe said she would be so glad about the crape!”
“Well, Nan, the fact is that the crape could not make her glad, nor the black dress; but the thought that you, her little girl, made it and wore it for love of her would make her glad. It is not the colour of the dress makes her happy; it is the love you put into it.”
“Oh! I don’t quite understand,” said Nan.
“You will when you think it over. You see, she is in white; she has a crown and a harp. That is what we have learnt about those who leave us – that if they have loved God they go into His presence, and their dress is white and glistening, and they have harps to sing to and crowns to wear; and we know the more we love the nearer we get to them. So, Nan, the message your mother has left me is this: ‘Tell Nan to be as good as girl can be – to be the best girl she knows. By being the best she must be the most loving, she must be the most unselfish. She must not wish to be the best to be thought well of by her fellow-men, but she must be the best because God loves those who try to follow Him.’ Do you follow me, Nan, when I say these words?”
“I follow you,” said Nan. “You want me to be good, but I do not think I can; and as to being the best, that I can never be. You want me to have a great deal of love, and I only love mother and Phoebe a little bit. And to-night everything is to be changed; I won’t even have you.”
“I am going to ask Mrs. Richmond to send you to see me sometimes – perhaps once a fortnight or so.”
“Will you?” said Nan. “I think if I could like anything I should like that.”
“I will arrange it then; and perhaps although you do not exactly love me now, you will regard me as your friend and love me presently. But there is something else I want to say. Your mother wished all these things for you, but she knew that you would have certain difficulties in your life. I am sorry to have to tell it to you, my dear little girl, but it is the fact: your mother left you without any money.”
“But mother could scarcely do that, because we had something to live on,” said Nan. “Has mother taken our money away with her up to God?”
“No, dear. In the home where she is now money is not needed; but the little money she had was only to be here during her lifetime. It was what is called an annuity; that means, she could have the use of it for her life, but only for her life. So, my dear little girl, you have no money.”
“Then I expect,” said Nan, drawing herself up and fixing her eyes full on Mr. Pryor’s face, “that I had best go to the workhouse. I can go to the workhouse until I am old enough to take a place as servant; and I would like, please, to go into the same house with Phoebe. Perhaps Mrs. Vincent would have me as her little servant, and Phoebe could teach me.”
“That is not necessary; you are not suited for that kind of life, and God does not require it of you. Mrs. Richmond is very well off; she has more money than she knows what to do with, and she always loved your mother, so she is going to take you to bring you up with her two little girls. You will be trained and educated, and have everything that a little girl can require, and all Mrs. Richmond wants in return is your love and your obedience.”
“But I don’t think I can love her. I wish – oh, I wish she would not do it!” said Nan.
“Now, Nan, the first proof of your love for your mother has arrived, for she wanted you to go to Mrs. Richmond. She would be dreadfully pained – far, far more pained, if trouble could reach her in heaven, by your not going there than even if you still wore a coloured frock.”
“Oh, how puzzling it is, and how difficult!” said Nan. “I shall quite hate to go to Mrs. Richmond. I never liked her much, and now to think that I owe everything to her!”
“I have something more to say. There is a man who owed your father money long ago, and he has promised to adopt you in case you are not happy with Mrs. Richmond; but you must spend quite a year with her before you go to him. You would have a different life with him – freer, wilder. Your mother preferred the idea of your being with Mrs. Richmond, but if you are unhappy with her you are to go to the Asprays; when last I heard of them they lived in Virginia, in the States of America.”
Nan pressed her hand to her forehead.
“That does not seem much better,” she answered; “and I think my head aches, but I am not sure. Shall we go back again now, Mr. Pryor?”
CHAPTER V. – THE MYSTERY-GIRL
Kitty and Honora Richmond were in high spirits. Even the knowledge that Nan’s mother had been buried that day could scarcely depress them. They had heard of Nan a great deal for the last couple of years of their lives, but they had never seen her. Honora called her the little mystery-girl, and Kitty invariably made the same remark when her name was mentioned.
“I wonder if her eyes are blue or brown. If she has brown eyes she will be like me, and if she has blue eyes she will be like you, Nora.”
“As if the colour of her eyes mattered!” said Honora. “For my part,” she added, “I do not think any girl matters, and I do not see why you are so excited about her. If she were a dog it would be a different thing.”
“Yes, of course it would,” answered Kitty, looking wistfully round. “But you see she is a girl, and mother will not let us keep any more dogs.”
“The darlings!” cried Honora; “what a sin! Oh Kitty! do you know, I saw a dear little fox-terrier to-day when I was out. I know he was lost. He had one of those darling little square heads, and he did look so sweet! I would have given anything to bring him home, but when I spoke to nurse she said, ‘There are enough waifs and strays coming to the house without having stray dogs.’”
“I do wonder what she meant by that!” said Kitty.
“I expect,” said Nora in a thoughtful voice, “she must have meant poor Nan. It was not nice of her – not a bit. Do you know that Nan has no money? Nurse told me so last night; she said that if mother had not adopted
