true to the latest breath also; whilst he, in some gay and busy spot far away from your last quiet nook, will have married some dashing lady, and not purely oblivious of you, will long have ceased to regret you—­will chat about you, as you were in long past years —­will say, “Ah, little Cytherea used to tie her hair like that—­poor innocent trusting thing; it was a pleasant useless idle dream—­that dream of mine for the maid with the bright eyes and simple, silly heart; but I was a foolish lad at that time.”  Then he will tell the tale of all your little Wills and Wont’s and particular ways, and as he speaks, turn to his wife with a placid smile.’

’It is not true!  He can’t, he c-can’t be s-so cruel—­and you are cruel to me—­you are, you are!’ She was at last driven to desperation:  her natural common sense and shrewdness had seen all through the piece how imaginary her emotions were—­she felt herself to be weak and foolish in permitting them to rise; but even then she could not control them:  be agonized she must.  She was only eighteen, and the long day’s labour, her weariness, her excitement, had completely unnerved her, and worn her out:  she was bent hither and thither by this tyrannical working upon her imagination, as a young rush in the wind.  She wept bitterly.  ’And now think how much I like you,’ resumed Miss Aldclyffe, when Cytherea grew calmer.  ’I shall never forget you for anybody else, as men do—­never.  I will be exactly as a mother to you.  Now will you promise to live with me always, and always be taken care of, and never deserted?’

’I cannot.  I will not be anybody’s maid for another day on any consideration.’

’No, no, no.  You shan’t be a lady’s-maid.  You shall be my companion.  I will get another maid.’

Companion—­that was a new idea.  Cytherea could not resist the evidently heartfelt desire of the strange-tempered woman for her presence.  But she could not trust to the moment’s impulse.

‘I will stay, I think.  But do not ask for a final answer to-night.’

’Never mind now, then.  Put your hair round your mamma’s neck, and give me one good long kiss, and I won’t talk any more in that way about your lover.  After all, some young men are not so fickle as others; but even if he’s the ficklest, there is consolation.  The love of an inconstant man is ten times more ardent than that of a faithful man—­that is, while it lasts.’

Cytherea did as she was told, to escape the punishment of further talk; flung the twining tresses of her long, rich hair over Miss Aldclyffe’s shoulders as directed, and the two ceased conversing, making themselves up for sleep.  Miss Aldclyffe seemed to give herself over to a luxurious sense of content and quiet, as if the maiden at her side afforded her a protection against dangers which had menaced her for years; she was soon sleeping calmly.

2.  TWO TO FIVE A.M.