I saw the kindly looks of commiseration that followed my sister.  All the servants in the house vied with one another who should he the most attentive.  Coralie looked at me, with sweet, sisterly anxiety shining in her eyes.

The following day Coralie suggested we find two nice, large, lofty cheerful rooms for my sister’s use.  We decided upon two in the western wing—­they both looked on the Queen’s Terrace—­large, lofty rooms, with the sun shining on them all day, each one containing two large windows, from which could be seen a glorious vista of trees and flowers.

Without saying one word to Clare, they were prepared for her.  Books, music, pictures, statues, flowers, were all arranged in order; everything bright and beautiful was brought there.  A small part of the room was partitioned off and made into a conservatory, where she could see the flowers bloom and hear the birds sing all the day long.

I have seen many lovely places since then, but none that looked to me so bright and beautiful as my sister’s rooms.  All that money could do to alleviate her sufferings was done.  I ordered the easiest reclining chair, on which she could be gently moved from room to room, resolving in my own mind, no matter what went on in other parts of the house, that in her rooms there should be always sunshine and happiness.

Her joy when she was carried into them was most pretty and pathetic to see.  Then, when she was fairly installed, I wrote to London for the celebrated Dr. Finlaison, and I placed her under his care.  He gave me some little hope.

In the course of time, he said, with the best of attention, the most tender care and cheerful society, she would, he believed, recover so as to be once more able to take her place in the world; and the hour in which I heard that was, I do not hesitate to say, one of the very happiest of my life.

This part of my story has been, perhaps, commonplace.  There was coming for me a different phase.  If my reader thinks it too romantic, I can only say—­it is true.

CHAPTER V.

It was some little time before I asked Clare how she liked Coralie, then the answer was most diplomatic.

“I am so very sorry for her, Edgar, and so pleased that she has a home with us.”

She never said more than that, or less.  Knowing her amiable character, I came to the conclusion that she did not like her, but was too good-natured and kind-hearted to say so.

Mademoiselle, as she was called in the household, was very kind to my sister.  She engaged a maid, whose only business was to wait upon her; and more than that, she spent some hours, at least, every day in her room.  She attended to her flowers, fed her birds, selected her books, played and sang to her, read to her, talked to her in her bright, lively way, superintended her dress, so that I always saw my darling exquisitely attired; and yet I could not see that Clare liked her.