“Oh, it is so beautiful down there!  Do let me go out, mamma!” she exclaimed again a little while afterwards.  “Do let me go!” and her mother could not resist the beseeching tones.  She arose, and at that moment an elderly woman entered the room—­a woman who looked so exquisitely neat that one would have thought that she had no other business in life than that of keeping in perfect order her gray hair, with its snow-white cap, and her simple, spotless dress; but, on the contrary, she was the house-keeper, and had the whole charge of the big house, with all its complicated domestic arrangements.  Both mother and daughter exclaimed on seeing her, “Oh, Clarissa, how glad I am that you’ve come!” And both began to ask her opinion as to the visit to the garden, which the invalid so longed for, but which her mother hesitated to grant.

Clarissa was a person of rare character, and a tower of strength in this household, where, from the lady of the house down to the lowest servant, her word was followed as law and obeyed with affection; and one took into the clear depths of her honest, loving eyes explained the secret of her power:  they were “Mother’s eyes.”

“Say ‘yes,’ Clarissa, and let us go,” begged the child, pathetically.

“The air is soft, all the birds are singing and calling us:  why should we not try it to-day, dear Mrs. Stanhope?” said Clarissa.

“Yes; if you think best, we will,” answered the mother.  And Frederic, the tall footman, was summoned to carry the little girl down the long staircase and out of the house.  Then, once out-of-doors, the two women, supporting the child tenderly between them, led her through the sunny garden.

“Nora, are you happy now?” asked the mother, tenderly.

“Yes; it is beautiful here,” replied the child; “but I should like to go down to the stone bench by the river-side, where the branches dip into the water.”

So they went on over the green terraces to the water-side, down to the seat almost hidden under the lindens, among the clusters of whose pendent, sweet-smelling blossoms the bees were busy, mingling their deep murmur with the song which the Rhine sang in passing.  Nora’s eyes followed the dancing waves that seemed like living, happy sprites.

“Oh! how I wish that I could leap and dance so, mamma! away! away! but I am so tired; I am always tired.  I long to hop about as the birds do up in the trees there, and sing and be merry; but I am always so tired.”

“My darling, when you are stronger you will dance,” replied her mother, in a cheerful tone; but her looks belied her voice, for she was far from feeling the confidence which she tried to give.

“The doctor is coming to-day, and we will ask him what we can do this summer to make you stronger.  Now we must go back to the house, Nora; you look pale and ill, my child.  Is anything more than usual the matter with you?”

Nora assured her mother that she was only tired.  After any unusual exertion, her face always grew paler and her expression more suffering.  She reached the house with difficulty, and, when Frederic had carried her up to her bed-room, she lay on the sofa a long time without moving, thoroughly exhausted.