But
his master was so kind, Sims could but be happy."
"Even the hirelings love him," thought her mistress; aloud she says:
"I am quite sure Capt. Trevalyon was a kind master, Saunders, and
Sims was a faithful servant, and looked the essence of good humour.
Good-night, you can go now,"
"Good-night, ma'am; what time shall I call you for your bath, ma'am?"
"At half-past nine."
"Yes, ma'am."
And the white _robe de nuit_ is on, and this sweet woman glances at
the mirror, and smiles at the fair face with the bright brown curls on
the brow, the throat as fair as the soft robe of muslin, all a mystery
of embroidery and shapely clingingness.
CHAPTER XXXII.
TREVALYON GONE, VAURA KILLS TIME.
Christmas Day, the birth-day of Christ, dawned fair, beautiful, and
bright, and was ushered in by many a peal of sweet sounding bells.
The heavenly east was so gloriously bright as old Sol mounted upwards,
as to cause many a devout Roman (as he wended his steps to worship the
Creator, at the altar, in one or other temple whose doors stood wide
open, admitting a gleam of sunlight onto the figure of the sleeping
babe, and the adoring faces of the worshippers, to cause him) to
imagine as he gazed upward, that the heavenly Host caused all this
flood of light in the warm, glorious east, by their smiles of approval
at man's attempt to adore.
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