"I hope she is what she is represented," remarked Mildred; "but Mary King says that she has all the ways of a grand lady, and that she does not understand what I should have imagined every governess to be familiar with." "My dear Mildred, you are saying too much. She is highly respectable--a ward or _protégée_ of Mrs. Chalmers--the doctor would never have named her to me if she had not been all that was irreproachable." "We will hope for the best; but I advise you again, mamma, to keep her out of sight when our visitors come." Lady Dartelle smiled calmly--of the success of anything that she undertook that far-seeing lady never doubted. It was the end of January when Lady Dartelle received a letter from her son. "Here is good news, my dear children," she said, smiling. "Your brother is coming; and he brings with him Lord Chandon and Major Elton. We shall have a very pleasant time, I foresee." CHAPTER XXX. February came in mild and clear, with a pleasant foretaste of spring. In the woods the early violets were peeping out and the snow-drops were bowing their white heads; the buds were beginning to form on the hedges and trees, there was a faint song from the birds and silence reigned in the woods, as though the goddess of spring were hovering over them. It was Valentine's Day--in after-years Hyacinth remembered every incident of it--Clara had complained of not feeling well, and they had gone out into the woods--the governess and child. They sat down near a brook on some moss-covered stones. The child was unconsciously a poet in her way. "Miss Holte," she said, suddenly, "do you never pity the flowers for being obliged to hide so long in the dark cold earth? How they must be longing for sunshine and for spring! It is just as though they were in prison, and the sun is the good fairy that lets them out." Hyacinth made a point of never checking the child's thoughts; she always allowed her to tell them freely as they came. "I think so much about the flowers," continued the little one; "it seems to me that in some distant way they are related to the stars. I wonder if they live as we do--if some are proud of their color, and some of their fragrance--if they love and hate each other--if some are jealous, and others contented; I should like to know." "The world is full of secrets," returned Hyacinth, musingly--"I cannot tell. But, if flowers could have souls, I can imagine the kind of soul that would belong to each flower." "So can I," cried the child, joyously. "Why is the world full of secrets, Miss Holte? Men are so clever; why can they not find all the secrets out?" "Ah, my darling," sighed the young girl, "the skill of man does not go very far. It has mastered none of the great problems of life." They walked down to the shore and watched the waves rolling in; great sheets of white foam spread over the sand, the chant of the sea seemed on that day louder and more full of mystery than ever.