father and told her of when he was dying.

But when Cecile had gone away, Mrs. Bell turned to Lydia and said in
a tone of satisfaction:

"How much our dear Mercy has grown."

After this nothing would ever get the idea out of the old lady's
head that Cecile was Mercy.




CHAPTER VII.

A GUIDE TO THE PYRENEES.


I have said, for the first two months of Cecile's life in the
country she was a happy and light-hearted child. Her purse of money
was safe for the present. Her promise lay in abeyance. Even her dead
step-mother, anxious as she was to have Lovedy found, had counseled
Cecile to delay her search until she was older. Cecile, therefore,
might be happy. She might be indeed what she was--a child of ten.
This happiness was not to last. Clouds were to darken the life of
this little one; but before the clouds and darkness came, she was to
possess a more solid happiness--a happiness that, once it found
entrance into such a heart as hers, could never go away again.

The first beginning of this happiness was to come to Cecile through