Chapter VI: An Unexpected Visitor

IT was a happy season to all of us. At the end of three weeks my parents returned home; a fortnight later the girls followed, laden with gifts, and full of delightful memories of their stay under my aunt's roof. They had the promise, too, that when their holidays should come round again, they might reckon on spending them—if not at Denesfield, in some place of summer resort with Aunt Milly and me.

A few more weeks passed, and for the first time since I came to live with her, my aunt had some secret from me. She wrote letters and received answers, without telling me a word about the matter. In all else she was, if possible, more tender and kind than ever; so I comforted myself with the thought that she was not displeased, and that she had a perfect right to use her own judgment about trusting a girl like me.

One morning, about a week before Easter, I was sitting preparing an Italian lesson to read with my aunt, who knew the language well, when a gentleman was shown into the room. As raised my head I could not help thinking I had seen him before; but I could neither remember when or where.

He had scarcely time to speak, when the servant came back, and said:

"Please to step into the library, sir. Mrs. Dene will be glad to see you there."

It was no uncommon thing for my aunt to receive such visits. Many a young man, whose path in life was made smoother through her kind help or effort, came with a full heart to thank her.

But nearly an hour passed, and still the visitor was in the library with my aunt. My task was done, and I had laid my books down, and now stood looking out of the window at the trees just beginning to break out into bud, and thinking to myself how lovely the place would be in the green glory of spring.

All at once came again the memory of that visitor's face, and a new idea flashed across my mind. I ran out of the room and into the picture gallery, where hung a very fine full-length portrait of Aunt Milly's husband, taken when he was just of age.

I saw the likeness at once. It might have been that of the young man whose face had struck me some little while before as so familiar. I stood for a few moments, and then exclaimed aloud:

"How like he is to the picture! He must be a Dene!"

"You have guessed rightly, Mildred," said Aunt Milly's voice. "This is my dear husband's nephew and namesake, William Dene. And this girl, William, who recognised a sort of kinsman in you, is the child of my only sister. She is my namesake, too, and adopted daughter, Mildred Corsor."

In my haste and anxiety to look at the portrait, I had not noticed Aunt Milly and her companion, who were entering the gallery by a door which led to it from the library.

I was quite confused for a few moments; but dear Aunt Milly soon made me feel at ease again. I shook hands with William Dene, and told him most heartily how glad I was to see him. I knew what pleasure it would give my dear father and mother, for mamma had told me of her conversation with my aunt on Christmas night, and what she hoped might be the result of it.

"You know my secret, now," said Aunt Milly, "or at least you can guess who was my mysterious correspondent. Here he stands, Mildred. And now, to make amends for my seeming want of trust, you shall write to your father and mother and tell them that I have taken their advice. I hope, for the future, only peace and goodwill may be known amongst us Denes."