Little Golden's Daughter; or, The Dream of a Life Time. Alex. McVeigh MillerЧитать онлайн книгу.
had quitted the room.
"What makes you think I am acquainted with him, mammy?" inquired the child in surprise.
Dinah shook her woolly head sagely.
"Don't try to deceabe your ole brack mammy, my lamb," she said. "He called you Missie Glenalvan—do you think I didn't notice that?"
Golden's pretty cheeks grew scarlet with blushes.
"I shall have to 'form your grandpa of what he done, the impident wilyun!" continued Dinah, emphatically.
"Oh, black mammy, please don't tell," cried the girl impulsively. "You heard what he said—it was a mere accident, I am quite, quite sure he meant no harm."
"Ole massa shall be de jedge o' dat," replied Dinah decidedly. "I'll miss my guess if de ole man don't put a pistol-hole frew my fine, han'some gentleman!"
"Oh, black mammy! then you shall not tell," cried Golden in terror. "Indeed, indeed, he is not the wicked man you believe him. He has kept my secret for me, and I must keep his now. That would only be fair."
"Ah, den you do know him," cried Dinah, horrified. "Tell me all about it dis minute, if you know what's best for you, chile."
Golden did not resent the old nurse's tone of authority. She knew the old woman's love for her too well. She dried her eyes and reluctantly related her escapade two nights before.
"He kept my secret," she concluded, "and it would not be fair for us to make trouble for him, would it, black mammy?"
Old Dinah had slipped down to the floor, and sat with her long, black arms clasped around her knees, looking up into her nursling's eager, fearful face, with a good deal of trouble in her keen, black eyes.
The old woman was shrewd and intelligent in her way. She foresaw trouble, and perhaps the bitterest sorrow from these two meetings between the handsome guest of John Glenalvan and the young mistress.
"Black mammy, promise me you will not tell grandpa," Golden pleaded. "I will do anything you ask me if only you will not tell him."
Thereupon Dinah announced her ultimatum.
"If you will promise me never to speak to the strange gentleman again, little missie, I will not tell ole massa."
Golden opened wide her blue eyes. She looked very lovely as she leaned back among the snowy, ruffled pillows, her golden hair straying loosely about her shoulders, her cheeks tinted with a deep, warm blush, her little hands nervously clasping and unclasping each other.
"Black mammy, I think you are very cross to-night," she pouted. "Why should I never speak to the handsome gentleman again?"
"Because it's best for you. Ole brack mammy knows better dan you, chile."
"But I liked him so much," said Golden, blushing rosy red.
"You had no business to like him," responded Dinah. "He's to marry Miss Elinor."
"I do not believe it," said Golden, quickly.
"He's not for you, anyway," retorted Dinah. "You'll nebber marry no one, my dear."
"Why not?" asked the child. "Will nobody ever love me?"
"Nobody'll ever love ye like your grandpa, honey, and 'taint likely dat ever he will give ye away to anyone."
Golden was silent a moment. She seemed to be thinking intently. After a moment she said gravely and sadly:
"Grandpa is old, and I am young. Who will take care of me when he is gone?"
"Your old brack mammy, I guess, honey."
"You are old, too," said Golden. "You may not live as long as I do."
"Bless the chile's heart, how she do talk," said the old negress. "Ah, my precious lamb, I has outlived dem as was younger and fairer dan ole black Dinah."
The old black face looked very sad for a moment, then Dinah continued:
"Little missie, it's my clair duty to tell old massa de sarcumstances of the case to-morrow morning. Leastwise, unless you promise me nebber to speak to dat man ag'in."
"That is very hard," sighed Golden.
"Hard," said Dinah. "I should think you would be so mad at the wilyun, a-comin' in and kissin' you so unceremonious, dat you would nebber want to speak to him any more."
Golden hid her face in the pillows, and a deep sigh fluttered over her lips.
"Come, dearie, won't you promise?" said Dinah. "I knows what's for your good better dan you does yourself, chile."
"Must I promise it, indeed?" sighed the innocent child, lifting her flushed face from the pillow a moment to fix her big, blue, imploring eyes on the old woman's obdurate face.
"Yes, you must sartainly promise it," was the uncompromising reply.
There was silence for a moment, and Dinah saw the tears come into the sweet, blue eyes.
"Honey, chile, does you promise me?" she inquired, only confirmed in the opinion by this demonstration.
"Yes, I promise not to speak to him unless you give me leave, black mammy," replied Golden, with quivering lips.
"That's right, darling. Mammy can depend on your word. Lie down, and go to sleep, honey, and I'll fetch my pallet in yere, and sleep on de flo' by your bedside, so that no one kin 'trude on you ag'in."
The girl laid her fair head silently on the pillow, and Dinah threw down a quilt on the floor and rolled herself in it. She was soon snoring profoundly.
Not so with beautiful Golden. It was quite impossible for her to sleep again. She shut her eyelids resolutely, but the busy, beautiful brain was too active to admit of her losing consciousness again. She lay thinking of the splendid, dark-eyed stranger.
"He has kissed me twice," she whispered to her heart, "and yet I do not even know his name. I wonder if I shall ever see him again. I hope I shall."
As she remembered how earnestly he had apologized for his presence in her room, she could not believe him the wicked villain old Dinah had so loudly represented him.
"He is handsome, and I believe that he is good," the girl said to herself, "and they tell me Elinor wants to marry him; I would like to marry him myself, just to spite my cousins."
Poor little Golden! Her spite against her cousins was almost as old as her years. They had always hated her, and Golden had been quick to find it out and resent it.
She had a quick and fiery temper, but it did not take her long to repent of her little fits of passion.
She was a bright, winsome, lovable child. It was a wonder that anyone could hate her for her beautiful, innocent life.
Yet there were those who did, and it was beginning to dawn vaguely on the mind of the girl that it was so. She knew that her life was passed differently from that of the other girls of her age and class.
There were no teachers, no companions, no pleasures for her, and no promise of any change in the future.
She wondered a little why it was so, but she never complained to her grandfather. It was, perhaps, only his way, she said to herself, little dreaming of the dark mystery that lay like a deep, impassible gulf between her and the dwellers in the outside world of which she knew so very, very little.
CHAPTER VIII
A week elapsed, and there seemed but little prospect of the little prisoner's release from the haunted chambers of the ruined wing.
The Glenalvans' guest lingered on, fascinated, it appeared, by the attractions of the beautiful Elinor. At least Elinor stoutly maintained this fact in the privacy of the family circle, while Clare as obstinately persisted that Mr. Chesleigh was perfectly impartial in his attentions to both.
But however doubtful was Elinor's impression, the fact remained that he was pleased with his visit.
He consented by their urgent invitation to prolong his stay another week. The girls were jubilant over his decision.
Meanwhile, old Dinah watched her secluded nursling with