The Blue Diamond by Annie Haynes Page A

mist and the damp I saw your face, and you were good to me—very, very good to me. Ah, I can never forget your kindness, even if I do not remember my own name!”
    Arthur’s own eyes were misty now, and there was a suspicious trembling in his voice.
    â€œAh, if only I could make you understand how thankful we are to have you here—how desolate this house will be to some of us when you go!”
    He leaned forward and dared to lay his hands on hers, and was not repulsed.
    â€œWhen I go!” Hilda repeated forlornly, her hand resting in his as if unconsciously. “Ah, I must—I am sure I ought to go; and perhaps I know enough to teach, if that has not all gone too! But who would take me, Sir Arthur? I should have no references—I could give no account of myself.”
    â€œStop!” Arthur cried hoarsely. “Do not say another word of that sort. You know we—my mother and I—would never consent to anything of the kind. We look upon you as our special charge, sent to us from Heaven. Hilda, promise me that you will not speak of that again—that you will stay with us until you find your own home!”
    â€œBut when will that be?” Hilda’s eyes were downcast; her long lashes lay like dark shadows on her fair skin.
    â€œNever mind! Promise!” said Arthur imperiously.
    The girl gave him one shy upward glance.
    â€œI—promise,” she murmured obediently, “since you are so kind as to wish to keep me.”
    Meanwhile upstairs in her room Dorothy was making desperate attempts to remove the traces of her agitation; she smoothed her hair and bathed her face, but as she looked at the forlorn reflection in the glass her tears threatened to break out again.
    â€œIf only she is good enough for him,” she murmured as she rubbed her pale cheeks in a vain attempt to bring back her colour, “if only she will make him happy, I do not mind; it does not matter about me.”

Chapter Eight
    â€œY OU ARE fond of music, Miss Hilda?” Garth Davenant had been standing by the piano turning the leaves of her music while Mavis tried over a new song. He crossed now to Hilda, who, with Sir Arthur in close attendance, was listening with an absorbed face.
    â€œI love it,” she said, with an abstracted air. “I cannot help thinking—I seem to have heard that song before.”
    â€œWell, it is not exactly new,” Mavis said with a light laugh. “I dare say you will hear it a good many times yet, for I don’t learn anything very easily.”
    â€œDo you play or sing yourself, Miss Hilda?” Garth asked, watching the girl’s changing face.
    â€œI—I don’t know.” She hesitated and looked round appealingly. “I—I can’t remember.”
    â€œTry!” he said, going over to her and silencing Arthur s objection with a glance. “Come, I am sure by your face that you do!”
    The girl rose and stood for a moment, her hands pressed to her head, then she crossed the room slowly. As she sat down to the piano her expression altered.
    â€œOh!” she exclaimed delightedly. “I—I think—I believe—I remember!”
    Davenant placed a symphony of Beethoven’s on the stand and took his place beside her, watching her face critically.
    For a moment the white fingers strayed over the keys in a vague uncertain fashion; then they altered, settled on the right notes, and the opening chords rang out. It was evident from the beginning to all in the room that they were listening to a real musician, one, too, whose touch and technique showed that she must have received a careful training.
    â€œCapital! Thank you very much!” Davenant said as she finished and rose from her seat with flushed cheeks.
    â€œThat was quite right, was it not?” she asked with childish delight. “It is a step in the right direction, I believe. Fancy, until to-day I have not known that I could do