'Why, surely you know? Your friend, Farmer Springrove, the cider-maker, and who keeps the Three Tranters Inn; who recommended you to me when he came in to see me the other day?' Cytherea's mother-wit suddenly warned her in the midst of her excitement that it was necessary not to betray the secret of her love. 'O yes,' she said, 'of course.' Her thoughts had run as follows in that short interval:-'Farmer Springrove is Edward's father, and his name is Edward too.
'Edward knew I was going to advertise for a situation of some kind.
'He watched the Times, and saw it, my address being attached.
'He thought it would be excellent for me to be here that we might meet whenever he came home.
'He told his father that I might be recommended as a lady's-maid; and he knew my brother and myself.
'His father told Mrs. Morris; Mrs. Morris told Miss Aldclyffe.' The whole chain of incidents that drew her there was plain, and there was no such thing as chance in the matter. It was all Edward's doing.
The sound of a bell was heard. Cytherea did not heed it, and still continued in her reverie.
'That's Miss Aldclyffe's bell,' said Mrs. Morris.
'I suppose it is,' said the young woman placidly.
'Well, it means that you must go up to her,' the matron continued, in a tone of surprise.
Cytherea felt a burning heat come over her, mingled with a sudden irritation at Mrs. Morris's hint. But the good sense which had recognized stern necessity prevailed over rebellious independence; the flush passed, and she said hastily-'Yes, yes; of course, I must go to her when she pulls the bell --whether I want to or no.' However, in spite of this painful reminder of her new position in life, Cytherea left the apartment in a mood far different from the gloomy sadness of ten minutes previous. The place felt like home to her now; she did not mind the pettiness of her occupation, because Edward evidently did not mind it; and this was Edward's own spot.
She found time on her way to Miss Aldclyffe's dressing-room to hurriedly glide out by a side door, and look for a moment at the unconscious sheep bearing the friendly initials. She went up to them to try to touch one of the flock, and felt vexed that they all stared sceptically at her kind advances, and then ran pell-mell down the hill. Then, fearing any one should discover her childish movements, she slipped indoors again, and ascended the staircase, catching glimpses, as she passed, of silver-buttoned footmen, who flashed about the passages like lightning.