even the slight tree seemed a weight almost too heavy to bear. As he went up stairs, he heard Lolotte talking so gaily—a listener is such a pleasure to a child! He entered, and saw her seated on the knee of an elderly man, in whose face something of sadness was mixed with the joyful and affectionate attention with which he was bending to his pretty companion.
"How a few words change the destiny of a life! A few, a very few words told Charles Seymour that Mr de Lisle, his mother's brother, stood before him, just arrived from India—a few words gave him an almost father, a fortune, and friends; for Mr de Lisle had sought the orphans, to be the children of his heart and his home.
"Another year had passed away. Charles Seymour's brow was still darkened with thought, but not anxiety; and his cheek, though pale, had no hue of sickness. He was seated in the little study, peculiarly his own; books, drawings, papers, were scattered round, and not a favourite author but found a place on his shelves. To-day his solitude was often broken in upon—it was Lolotte's birthday; and a sunny face and buoyant step entered his room, to show the many treasures heaped on that anniversary.
"There was a little female art in this. Lolotte, amid all her gay presents, felt half sorry, half surprised, to find none from her brother. Had he forgotten!—to show him her gifts, might remind him of his own: still, Charles offered her no remembrance of the day. A child's ball was too new and too gay, not to banish all thought but of itself; but when Lolotte went into her room for the night, and saw her table covered with presents, and still none from her brother, it was too much; and she sat down on her little stool, where, when Charles entered, he found her crying.
"'My own sweet sister, you were not forgotten, but my birthday remembrance was too sad a one. I could not spoil your day of pleasure by a gift so sorrowful.'
"He presented her with a little packet, and the cheek which he kissed as he said, Good night, was wet with his tears.
"Lolotte opened the paper—it contained a miniature, and she knew that the beautiful face was that of her mother. It was not till the morning that she saw the following lines were with it:
