But Jacquelina—­Sans Souci—­merits a better portrait.  She was small and slight for her years, and, though really near nine, would have been taken for six or seven.  She was fair-skinned, blue-eyed and golden-haired.  And her countenance, full of spirit, courage and audacity.  As she would dart her face upward toward the sun, her round, smooth, highly polished white forehead would seem to laugh in light between its clustering curls of burnished gold, that, together with the little, slightly turned-up nose, and short, slightly protruded upper lip, gave the charm of inexpressible archness to the most mischievous countenance alive.  In fact her whole form, features, expression and gestures seemed instinct with mischief—­mischief lurked in the kinked tendrils of her bright hair; mischief looked out and laughed in the merry, malicious blue eyes; mischief crept slyly over the bows of her curbed and ruby lips, and mischief played at hide and seek among the rosy dimples of her blooming cheeks.

“Now, Jacquelina,” said Mrs. L’Oiseau, “you must cure yourself of these hoydenish tricks of yours before you expose them to your uncle—­remember how whimsical and eccentric he is.”

“So am I!  Just as whimsical!  I’ll do him dirt,” said the young lady.

“Good heaven!  Where did you ever pick up such a phrase, and what upon earth does doing any one ‘dirt’ mean?” asked the very much shocked lady.

“I mean I’ll grind his nose on the ground, I’ll hurry him and worry him, and upset him, and cross him, and make him run his head against the wall, and butt his blundering brains out.  What did he turn Fair Edith away for?  Oh!  I’ll pay him off!  I’ll settle with him!  Fair Edith shan’t be in his debt for her injuries very long.”

From her pearly brow and pearly cheeks, “Fair Edith” was the name by which the child had heard her cousin once called, and she had called her thus ever since.

Mrs. L’Oiseau answered gravely.

“Your uncle gave Edith a fair choice between his own love and protection, and the great benefits he had in store for her, and the love of a stranger and foreigner, whom he disapproved and hated.  Edith deliberately chose the latter.  And your uncle had a perfect right to act upon her unwise decision.”

“And for my part, I know he hadn’t—­all of my own thoughts.  Oh!  I’ll do him—­”

“Hush!  Jacquelina.  You shall not use such expressions.  So much comes of my letting you have your own way, running down to the beach and watching the boats, and hearing the vulgar talk of the fishermen.”

On Saturday, at the hour specified, the carriage came to Old Field Cottage, and conveyed Mrs. L’Oiseau and her child to Luckenough.  They were very kindly received by the commodore, and affectionately embraced by Henrietta, who conducted them to a pleasant room, where they could lay off their bonnets, and which they were thenceforth to consider as their own apartment.  This was not the one which had been occupied by Edith.  Edith’s chamber had been left undisturbed and locked up by Mrs. Waugh, and was kept ever after sacred to her memory.