III.

A night of sorrow is said to give place to a morning of joy.  This would be a comforting thought were it not that the morning must likewise give place in its turn to another night.

The morning which followed the night of Nancy Forest’s bitter humiliation was certainly a bright one—­at least, by contrast; and, unfortunately, much so-called happiness is only such.  Were the world not a dark and naughty one, a good deed might not shine so brightly.  In the first place, Nancy was young and healthy; so the wintry sun, though it shone on a frozen ground, cheered her.  Then Mrs. Forest was unusually amiable at breakfast, and paid some attention to her daughter, which she generally found herself too busy to do.  Her father made much of her, as was his habit.  He had apparently heard nothing of last night’s episode.

The walk across the hills to Shenton was exhilarating, and at the end of it a pleasant surprise awaited Nancy.  She found Miss Michin already at work on a dress for Miss Sabina Hurst when she arrived.  The good-natured little woman greeted her apprentice brightly.  “You are looking better, Nancy; the walk has given you a colour.”  Then she reached out her hand to a table near her, and took a little parcel from it and gave it to Nancy.

“It is nothing,” she explained, as the girl looked at it curiously.  “Open it, dear; it is a trifle for a Christmas gift.  I wish it was more.”

Nancy could only say “Oh, Miss Michin—­how kind!” to begin with.  Then she unwrapped the paper and saw a dainty pair of brown kid gloves with ever so many buttons.  This matter of the buttons was not unimportant in Nancy’s eyes.  Had her mother given her the money, she thought, she could never have bought gloves with more than two buttons.

“This is just what I needed—­oh, thank you so much,” she exclaimed, when she had looked at them.

“That was what I thought,” said the dressmaker; “so now we must set to work and get a good day.”

And Nancy did work well that day, never looking up from her work, except once to glance across to the Post-office at the time she knew Benny Dodd usually came out to go to the church.  She could not see Fred, so it was some pleasure to her to look at the small boy who blew the organ for him.

But Benny did not perform that office for the young musician on this day, for Fred Hurst had gone to London that morning, summoned thither by a letter from Messrs. Hermann and Scheiner, music publishers.  The marked success of “Winged Love” had disposed these gentlemen to make the young composer a good offer for his next song.  The more immediate cause of their determination was the fact that Senor Flores had chosen to sing “Winged Love” at the last Saturday afternoon concert at St. James’ Hall, and its reception had been such as to establish a certain sale for songs from the same hand.  “Who is this Fred Hurst?” people in London were asking.