"I won't cry," said Cecile; she made a great effort set her lips
firm, and looked hard at her stepmother.

"That's a good, brave girl. Now I can talk in comfort. I want to
talk all I can to you to-night, my dear, for to-morrow I may have the
weakness back again, and besides your Aunt Lydia will be here!"

"Who's my Aunt Lydia?" asked Cecile.

"She ain't rightly your aunt at all, she's my sister; but she's the
person as will have to take care of you and Maurice after I'm dead."

"Oh!" said Cecile; her little face fell, and a bright color came
into her cheeks.

"She's my own sister," continued Mrs. D'Albert, "but I don't like
her much. She's a good woman enough; not up to yer father's standard,
but still fair enough. But she's hard--she is hard ef you like. I
don't profess to have any violent love for you two little tots, but
I'd sooner not leave you to the care o' Aunt Lydia ef I could help it."

"Don't leave us to her care; do find some one kind--some one as 'ull
be kind to me, and Maurice, and Toby--do help it, stepmother," said
Cecile.

"I _can't_ help it, child; and there's no use bothering a dying
woman who's short of breath. You and Maurice have got to go to my
sister, your Aunt Lydia, and ef you'll take a word of advice by and
by, Cecile, from one as 'ull be in her grave, you'll not step-aunt
her--she's short of temper, Aunt Lydia is. Yes," continued the sick