"I should like to look at him. Here, my little baronet! I want to see you."

The boy, who had been looking curiously at the stranger, ran up at a sign from his mother. The tall captain lifted him in his arms and gazed in his small, thin face, with which his bright tartan plaid contrasted harshly.

"He hasn't a look of the Thetfords. He is your own son, Ada. My little baronet, what is your name?"

"Sir Rupert Thetford," answered the child, struggling to get free. "Let me go--I don't know you!"

The captain set him down with a grim smile; and the boy clung to his mother's skirts, and eyed the tall stranger askance.

"I want to go home, mamma. I'm tired and hungry."

"Presently, dearest. Run to William, he has cakes for you. Captain Everard, I shall be happy to have you at dinner."

"Thanks; but I must decline. I go back to London to-night. I sail for India again in a week."

"So soon! I thought you meant to remain."

"Nothing is further from my intention. I merely brought my little girl over to provide her a home; that is why I have troubled _you_. Will you do me this kindness, Lady Thetford?"

"Take your little girl? Oh! most gladly--most willingly."

"Thanks. Her mother's people are French, and I know little about them; and, save yourself, I can claim friendship with few in England. She will be poor; I have settled on her all I am worth--some three hundred a year; and you, Lady Thetford, you teach her, when she grows up, to catch a rich husband."

She took no notice of the taunt; she looked only too happy to render him this service.

"I am so pleased! She will be such a nice companion for Rupert. How old is she?"

"Nearly four."

"Is she here?"

"No; she is in London. I will fetch her down in a day or two."

"What do you call her?"

"Mabel--after her mother. Then it is settled, Lady Thetford, I am to fetch her?"

"I shall be delighted. But won't you dine with me?"

"No. I must catch the evening train. Farewell, Lady Thetford, and many thanks. In three days I will be here again."

He lifted his hat, and walked away. Lady Thetford watched him out of sight, and then turned slowly, as she heard her little boy calling to her with shrill impatience. The red sunset had faded out; the sea lay gray and cold under the twilight sky; and the evening breeze was chill.

Changes in sky, and sea, and land, told of coming night; and Lady Thetford, shivering slightly in the rising wind, hurried away to be driven home.

CHAPTER III.

"LITTLE MAY."

On the evening of the third day after this interview, a fly from the railway drove up the long, winding avenue leading to the great front entrance of the Thetford mansion. A bronzed military gentleman, a nurse, and a little girl, occupied the fly, and the gentleman's keen, dark eyes wandered searchingly around. Swelling meadows, velvety lawns, sloping terraces, waving trees, bright flower-gardens, quaint old fish-ponds, sparkling fountains, a wooded park, with sprightly deer--that was what he saw, all bathed in the golden halo of the summer sunset. Massive and grand, the old house reared its gray head, half overgrown with ivy and climbing roses. Gaudy peacocks strutted on the terraces; a graceful gazelle flitted out for an instant amongst the trees to look at them, and then fled in affright; and the barking of half a dozen mastiffs greeted their approach noisily.

"A fine place," thought Capt. Everard. "My pretty Ada might have done worse. A grand old place for that puny child to inherit. The staunch old warrior-blood of the Thetfords is sadly adulterated in his pale veins, I fancy. Well, my little May, and how are you going to like all this?"

The child, a bright-faced little creature, with great, restless, sparkling eyes, and rose-bloom cheeks, was looking in delight at a distant terrace.

"See, papa! See all the pretty peacocks! Look, Ellen," to the nurse, "three, four, five! Oh, how pretty!"

"Then little May will like to live here, where she can see pretty peacocks every day?"

"And all the pretty flowers, and the water, and the little boy--where's the little boy, papa?"

"In the house--you'll see him presently; but you must be very good, little May, and not pull his hair, and scratch his face, and put your fingers in his eyes, as you used to do with Willie Brandon. Little May must learn to be good."

Little May put one rosy finger in her mouth, and set her head on one side like a defiant canary. She was one of the prettiest little fairies imaginable, with her pale flaxen curls, sparkling light-gray eyes, and apple-blossom complexion; but she was evidently as much spoiled as small Sir Rupert Thetford himself.

Lady Thetford sat in the long drawing-room, after her solitary dinner, and little Sir Rupert played with his rocking-horse, and a pile of picture-books in a remote corner. The young widow lay back in the violet-velvet depths of a carved and gilded lounging-chair very simply dressed in black and crimson, but looking very fair and stately withal.

She was watching her boy with a half smile on her face, when a footman entered with Captain Everard's card. Lady Thetford looked up eagerly.

"Show Captain Everard up at once."

The footman bowed and disappeared. Five minutes later, and the tall captain and his little daughter stood before her.

"At last!" said Lady Thetford, rising and holding out her hand to her old lover, with a smile that reminded him of other days--"at last, when I was growing tired waiting. And this is your little girl--_my_ little girl from henceforth? Come here, my pet, and kiss your new mamma."

She bent over the little one, kissing the pink cheek and rosy lips.

"She is fair and tiny--a very fairy; but she resembles you, nevertheless, Captain Everard."

"In temper--yes," said the captain. "You will find her spoiled, and wilful, cross, and capricious, and no end of trouble. Won't she, May?"

"She will be the better match for Rupert on that account," Lady Thetford said, smiling, and unfastening little Miss Everard's wraps with her own fair fingers. "Come here, Rupert, and welcome your new sister."

The young baronet approached, and dutifully kissed little May, who put up her rosebud mouth right willingly. Sir Rupert Thetford was not tall, rather undersized, and delicate for his seven years; but he was head and shoulders over the flaxen-haired fairy, with the bright gray eyes.

"I want a ride on your rocking-horse," cried little May, fraternizing with him at once; "and oh! what nice picture-books, and what a lot!"

The children ran off together to their distant corner, and Captain Everard sat down for the first time.

"You have not dined?" said Lady Thetford. "Allow me to--" her hand was on the bell, but the captain interposed.

"Many thanks--nothing. We dined at the village; and I leave again by the seven-fifty train. It is past seven now, so I have but little time to spare. I fear I am putting you to a great deal of trouble; but May's nurse insists on being taken back to London to-night."

"It will be of no consequence," replied Lady Thetford, "Rupert's nurse will take charge of her. I intend to advertise for a nursery-governess in a few days. Rupert's health has always been so extremely delicate, that he has not even made a pretext of learning yet, and it is quite time. He grows stronger, I fancy; but Dr. Gale tells me frankly his constitution is dangerously weak."

She sighed as she spoke, and looked over to where he stood beside little May who had mounted the rocking-horse boy-fashion. Sir Rupert was expostulating.