"I don't think there are any larks here," remarked Una, gravely; "and at this time of the year the lark begins to sing at four. I have often watched him rise from his nest in the grass." "My poor child, you will miss the country so much." "No," said Una; "I am so anxious to see the world, you know." "Well, we will begin today." "Una, you know I wish you to be quite--to be very happy with me. And--and I hope if there is anything that you want you will ask for it without hesitation." "Anything I want?" repeated Una, with a smile. "Is it possible that any one could want anything more than is here? There seems to be everything. I was thinking, as you spoke, of what my father would say if he saw this table, with all the things to eat, and the silver and glass." "My dear child, this is nothing. I live very simply. If you saw, as you will see, some of the homes of the wealthy, some of the homes of the aristocracy, you would discover that what you deem luxury is merely comfort." "I was never uncomfortable at the cottage," said Una, gravely. "That is because you were unused to anything better, and--and--you must not speak of the past life too much, Una. I mean to strangers. Strangers are so curious, and--and my son, Stephen, does not wish everyone to know where you come from and how you lived." "Does he not? Well, I will not speak of it; but I do not understand--quite----" "Neither do I. I am afraid I do not always understand Stephen; but--but I always do as he tells me." And she looked up with the anxious, questioning expression which Una noticed was always present when Stephen Davenant was mentioned. Was Mrs. Davenant afraid of her son? Una mused for a minute in silence; then she looked up and said: "I ought to do what Mr. Stephen wishes. Do you know what he wants me to do?" "You are to be companion to me, my dear." "I am very fond of fairy tales," she said; "but I have never read one more strange and beautiful than this." "Let me show you how to put on your gloves, dear," she said. "Yes, you have got a small hand, and a beautifully-shaped one, too. Strange, small hands are a sure sign of high birth." "Perhaps I am a princess in disguise. No! I am a woodman's daughter in the disguise of a princess, that is it." Mrs. Davenant looked at her curiously. "You are not ashamed of being a woodman's daughter, Una," she said; "but yet--perhaps the time will come when you will----" Una's opened-eyed surprise stopped her. "Ashamed?" she echoed, with mild astonishment. "Why?" "I--I don't know. Never mind, my dear," said Mrs. Davenant, as the brougham stopped. "You are a strange child, and--and you say such strange things so naturally that I am puzzled to know how to speak to you." CHAPTER XIX.