"And now," added she, as we sat under the kingly canopy of verdure,--on a carpet of living velvet,--"let me tell you why I love Ernest so very, very dearly. My father died when I was a little child, a little feeble child, a cripple as well as an invalid. Ernest is four years older than myself, and though when I was a little child he was but a very young boy, he always seemed a protector and guardian to me. He never cared about play like other children, loving his book better than any thing else, but willing to leave even that to amuse and gratify me. Oh! I used to suffer so much, so dreadfully,--I could not lie down, I could not sit up without pain,--no medicine would give me any relief. Hour after hour would Ernest hold me in his arms, and carry me about in the open air, never owning he was weary while he could give me one moment's ease. No one thought I would live beyond childhood, and I have no doubt many believed that death would be a blessing to the poor, crippled child. They did not know how dear life was to me in spite of all my sufferings; for had I always been well, I never should have known those tender, cherishing cares which have filled my heart with so much love. It is so sweet to be petted and caressed as I have been!" "It did not need sickness and suffering to make _you_ beloved, Edith," I cried, twisting my fingers in her soft, golden curls. "Who could help loving you and wishing to caress you?" "Yes it did, Gabriella; my Heavenly Father knew that it did, or He would never have laid upon me His chastening hand. Sickness and pain have been my only chastisements, and they are all past. I am not very strong, but I am well; and though a cripple, my wooden feet serve me wonderfully well. I am so used to them now, they seem a part of myself." "I can never think of you as walking," I said, taking one of the crutches that leaned against the tree. The part which fitted under the arm was covered with a cushion of blue velvet, and the rosewood staff was mounted with silver. "You manage these so gracefully, one scarcely misses your feet." "But Ernest, dear Ernest," interrupted she, "let us talk of him. You must not be influenced too much by my mother's words. She adores him, but her standard of perfection is so exalted few can attain it. The very excess of her love makes her alive to his defects. She knows your vivid imagination, and fears my lavish praises will lead you to expect a being of super-human excellence. Oh, another thing I wanted to tell you. The uncle, for whom he was named, has died and left him a splendid fortune, which he did not need very much, you know. Had it not been for this circumstance, he would not have come back till autumn; and now he will be here in a week,--in less than a week. Oh, Gabriella, Grandison Place must shine for its master's welcome."