MELBOURNE HOUSE. [Illustration: THE OLD IRISH TOMB.] Melbourne House, Vol. I. MELBOURNE HOUSE. BY THE AUTHOR OF THE "WIDE, WIDE WORLD." "Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right."--PROV. XX. 11. VOL. I. NEW YORK: ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS, 530 BROADWAY. 1865. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by ROBERT CARTER AND BROTHERS, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. Stereotyped by SMITH & MCDOUGAL, 82 & 84 Beekman St. Printed by E.O. JENKINS, 20 North William St. [Transcriber's note: This edition of the novel was badly typeset in places. Many small errors--missing periods, missing apostrophes, missing closing quotes--have been corrected for reading ease. When the author spelled a word as 'ankle' nine times and 'ancle' twice, occurrences of 'ancle' have been corrected to 'ankle'--and so forth. Other errors, such as the persistent misspelling of 'visitor' as 'visiter', have been left, as these are more likely to represent the author's convictions as to spelling.] MELBOURNE HOUSE. CHAPTER I. A little girl was coming down a flight of stairs that led up from a great hall, slowly letting her feet pause on each stair, while the light touch of her hand on the rail guided her. The very thoughtful little face seemed to be intent on something out of the house, and when she reached the bottom, she still stood with her hand on the great baluster that rested on the marble there, and looked wistfully out of the open door. So the sunlight came in and looked at her; a little figure in a white frock and blue sash, with the hair cut short all over a little round head, and a face not only just now full of some grave concern, but with habitually thoughtful eyes and a wise little mouth. She did not seem to see the sunlight which poured all over her, and lit up a wide, deep hall, floored with marble, and opening at the other end on trees and flowers, which shewed the sunlight busy there too. The child lingered wistfully. Then crossed the hall, and went into a matted, breezy, elegant room, where a lady lay luxuriously on a couch, playing with a book and a leaf-cutter. She could not be _busy_ with anything in that attitude. Nearly all that was to be seen was a flow of lavender silk flounces, a rich slipper at rest on a cushion, and a dainty little cap with roses on a head too much at ease to rest. By the side of the lavender silk stood the little white dress, still and preoccupied as before--a few minutes without any notice. "Do you want anything, Daisy?" "Mamma, I want to know something." "Well, what is it?" "Mamma"--Daisy seemed to be engaged on a very puzzling question--"what does it mean to be a Christian?" "_What?_" said her mother, rousing herself up for the first time to look at her. "To be a Christian, mamma?"