"Thank you, mamma. I am really very idle to let you do it for me," said Aveline, setting to work hurriedly. "I feel at home with my pencil. I wish I could model a little better. There is something so incomplete in all my busts; but that must be a consideration for the future. When I get strong, I shall delight in improving myself in sculpture."
"My love, that is the last thing I am anxious about," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick. "You do already much more than most girls, and most grown women. Whatever study you have pursued, you know thoroughly."
"Yes, to a certain point; but how much I have before me. There is such a pleasure in acquiring knowledge."
Mrs. Fitzpatrick was turning over her daughter's portfolio.
"Where is that beautiful drawing, Aveline, which I used to think your best? That part of the coast, near Sorrento, at low water."
"Did you give it away, my dear?" asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick with a smile. For it was at Sorrento that Mr. Haveloc had been very much with them; and, during the progress of the drawing, as he was very fond of the art, and a pretty good draughts-man himself, he had often interfered, greatly to the benefit of the picture, as Aveline then declared.
"No, mamma," said Aveline, after a pause.
"Have you lost it then?" asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick, thinking it not unlikely that Mr. Haveloc might have stolen it as a remembrance of the hours they had passed together.
"No, mamma," said Aveline speaking very distinctly, but with much effort. "I destroyed it."
"I thought it wisest, mamma," said Aveline, going rapidly on with her drawing.
"Dear Aveline," said her mother, taking her in her arms. "Now that we are at home, and at rest--are you unhappy?"
"No, no, indeed, mamma!" said Aveline, hiding her face upon her mother's shoulder. "Not unhappy! Nobody can tell but myself how deeply I have longed for home and rest; often, when I have thought I should never rest again."
"It was not that I did not despise myself every day and every hour for my folly," said Aveline, plunging at once into the confession that she had often longed to make. "It was no cherished weakness, you will believe that, mamma."
"And it was not because he defended us from the brigands. I know it is common enough for men to be brave. But then he thought so little of it--he always made so light of it; and we should have never known he had been wounded, if his man had not told our courier, when we met at Sorrento."