your might, and you will soon learn to like them better.'
'But if the things are so, Edmund, how can I see them otherwise?'
'Don't look out for them, and be glad of every excuse for disliking the people. Don't fancy harshness and unkindness where no one intends it. I am quite sure that Mr. Lyddell wishes to give you every advantage, and that Mrs. Lyddell thinks she treats you like her own child.'
'I don't think I should like to be her own child,' said Marian. 'It is true that she is the same with me as with them, but--'
'Poor Marian,' said Edmund, kindly, 'you have been used to such gentleness at home, that no wonder the world seems hard and unkind to you. But I did not mean to make you cry; you know you must rough it, and bravely too.'
'Never mind my crying,' said Marian, struggling to speak; 'it is nothing, but I cannot help it. It is so very long since any one has known what I meant.'
Edmund could not trust himself to speak, so full was he of affectionate compassion for her, and of indignation against the Lyddells, when these few words revealed to him all her loneliness; and they walked on for a considerable distance in silence, till, with a sudden change of tone, he asked if she had had any riding since she came to Oakworthy.
'O no, I have not been on horseback once. What a treat a good canter on Mayflower would be!'
'I suspect one victory over her would put you in spirits to be amiable for a month,' said Edmund.
'Dear old Mayflower!' said Marian. 'How delightful that day was when she first came home, and we took that very long ride to the Eastcombe!'
Edmund and Marian fell into a line of reminiscences which enlivened them both, and she went in-doors in a cheerful mood, while he seriously took the riding into consideration; knowing, as he did, that her mother had thought a great deal of out-of-door exercise desirable for her, and guessing that her want of spirits might very probably arise from want of the air and freedom to which she had always been accustomed. The result of his meditations was, that the next morning she was delighted by Gerald's rushing into the school-room, calling out, 'Put on your habit, Marian; make haste and put on your habit. You are to have my pony, and I am to have Lionel's, and Edmund is to have Sorell, and we are all to ride together to Chalk Down!'
How fast Marian obeyed the summons may well be believed; and though Gerald's pony was not comparable to Mayflower, it was much to feel herself again in the saddle, with the fresh wind breathing on her checks, and Edmund by her side. Par and joyously did they ride; so far, that Gerald was tired into unusual sleepiness all the evening; but Marian was but the fresher and brighter, full of life and merriment, which quite surprised her cousins.
But visits, alas! are fleeting things, and Edmund's last day at Oakworthy came only too soon. Precious as it was, it was for the most part devoted to business with Mr. Lyddell, though he sent Marian a message that he hoped for a walk with her and her brother in the afternoon.
The hour came, but not the man; and while Caroline and Clara went out with Miss Morley, Marian sat down with a book to wait for him. In about an hour's time the boys came to tell her they were going to the pond with Walter.
'O Gerald, won't you wait for Edmund?'
'I have waited till I am tired. I cannot stay in this whole afternoon, and I do not think he will come this age.'
'He is shut up in the study with papa,' said Lionel; 'I heard their voices very loud, as if they were in _such_ a rage.'
'I wish I could see them,' said Johnny, 'it would be such fun.'
Away ran the boys, leaving Marian in a state of wonder and anxiety, but still confident that Edmund would not forget her. She put on her walking dress, and sat down to her book again, but still she was left to wait. The winter twilight commenced, and still no Edmund; steps approached,
