Читать книгу Sydney Lisle, the Heiress of St. Quentin онлайн

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They all had a kind of Sunday-manner towards the one who was to leave them. Mother packed for Sydney; Mildred mended her gloves so beautifully that one could not see where the mend was; old nurse came and brushed out the mane of fine brown hair, combed back loosely from the small face and tied at the back of the neck with ribbon; and Freddie rushed out to the nearest flower-shop to buy her a bunch of violets to wear on the journey. He even bore with calmness the hug with which she received them, though in general he objected strongly to such demonstrations from anyone but mother.

Father was to take her to the station, and she had her last words with mother in her little bedroom.

“Be a good girl, my darling, and try as well to be a cheerful one. I know this is a hard thing for you, but God doesn’t call us to do anything that is too hard for us. Be brave, my little Sydney, and make the best, in every sense, of this new life. God bless you, my darling!”

“I will try, mother,” said poor Sydney, choking back her tears, and then father called that the cab had come, and mother put the girl’s hat straight, and down they went.