WYtDER'S HAJVI).
183
"Chelford cannot like her. It is all Lady Chelford's
doing. Can I have mistaken the name?"
But no. Nothing could be more perfectly distinct than
"Chelford," traced in her fair correspondent's very legible
hand.
"He treats the young lady very coolly," thought Ra-
chel, forgetting, perhaps, that his special relations to Dor-
cas Brandon had compelled his stay in that part of the
world.
Mingled with this criticism, was a feeling quite unavow-
ed even to herself— that Lord Chelford had been — and this
she never admitted to herself before — more particular —
no, not exactly that — but more something or other — not
exactly expressible in words, in his approaches to her, than
was consistent with his sitnation. But then she had been
very guarded; not stiff or prudish, indeed, but frank and
cold enough with him, and that was comforting.
"Rachel, Rachel, is it possible?" murmured the young
lady, with a dubious smile, looking down upon the ground,
and shaking her head. "Yes, I do really think you had
begun to like Lord Chelford — only begun, the least little
insidious bit; but thank you, wild Bessie Frankleyn, you
have quite opened my eyes. Rachel, Rachel, girl! what
a fool you were near becoming!"
She leaned for a while with her fingers upon the window
sash; and when she turned to old Tamar, who brought in
her tiny tea equipage, it seemed as if the shadow of the
dell, into which she had been vacantly gazing, still rested
on her face.
"Not here, Tamar; I'll drink tea in my room; and
you must bring your tea-cup, too, and we'll take it togeth-
er. I am — I think I am — a little nervous, darling, and
you won't leave me?"
So they sat down together in her chamber. It was »