Was it tardy pity? Had my grandfather spoken to her? or had she come, like the fairy godmother of poor forlorn Cinderella, to visit me in all her splendour, and fill my room with a fleeting vision of elegance and beauty? Her tears had ceased, her sorrow was over; she was evidently going out for the evening: and she looked triumphant, like a long-captive princess emerging from her enchanted tower. Her dark ringlets fell on shoulders of ivory; her bright blue eyes sparkled with joy; the sweetest of smiles played on her enchanting face. A robe of rose-coloured silk fell to her feet in rustling folds; strings of pearls were wreathed in her hair, encircled her neck, and clasped her white arms. I gazed on her, mute with wonder and admiration. She looked gracious; but I ventured to touch her! She drew back with extreme alarm, glanced at her robe, and gently extending her hands before her person, to keep me at a safe distance, she smiled sweetly at me, with--"Yes, I know; good night, dear." With this she vanished. Why did she leave me far more chill and lonely than she had found me? Why did I remember the tender caresses of my dead father, and the embrace of Cornelius in the garden, and feel very dreary and desolate? Providence often answers our feelings and our thoughts in a manner that is both touching and strange. Ere long the door again opened; I looked up, and saw--Cornelius O'Reilly. CHAPTER V. What between surprise and joy, I could neither move nor speak. When the young man closed the door, came up to me, sat down by me, and, with a kiss, asked cheerfully, "Well, Margaret, how are you?" I hid my face on his shoulder, and began to cry. But he made me look up, and said with concern, "How pale and thin you are, child!--are you ill?" "No," I answered, astonished. Cornelius looked around him, at the fire with the guard, at the table with my books and playthings, at me; then observed, "Why are you alone?" "I am always alone." "Does no one come near you?" "No one." "Does your grandfather never send for you?" "Oh no!" "Who takes care of you?" "Mrs. Marks, the housekeeper." "Do you never leave this room?" "I can go down if I like; but it tires me." "Poor little thing! how do you spend your time?" "In the daytime I look out of the window; in the evening I play by myself." "Have you no children to play with?" "No, none." "And what do you learn?" "Nothing." "Nothing!" he echoed. "Yes, nothing." "Have you no lessons?" "No; Mrs. Marks says, that, as I can read well, and write a little, it is enough." "Enough!" indignantly exclaimed Cornelius; but he checked himself to observe, "Mrs. Marks knows nothing about it; a good education is the least Mr. Thornton can give his grand-daughter." He was not questioning me; but I looked at him, and said, bluntly, "I am to get a common-place education; I am not to be a lady." "Who says so?" indignantly asked Cornelius. "Mr. Thornton." "How do you know?"