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Updated: May 23, 2025
So little Lydia Bestman stood drearily watching with sorrow-filled eyes the England of her babyhood fade slowly into the distance eyes that were fated never to see again the royal old land of her birth. Already the deepest grief that life could hold had touched her young heart. She had lost her own gentle, London-bred mother when she was but two years old.
She lay still for a few moments while her companion regarded her with sorrow-filled eyes. "Elsie," she whispered suddenly, "if I tell you something something awful, mind you, will you promise never, never to tell it to a living soul? Not even after I'm gone?" Elsie looked at her half alarmed. "Oh, Arabella!" she stammered, "of course I wouldn't tell if you that is if you'd really like to tell me."
That gem of immortality, that precious and exalted being, was the one consolation, the one companion of the Guardian in his sorrow-filled life; and she, with her sweet encouragement, her gentle words, her never-ceasing, soothing care of him, her smiles that came like fair winds from heavenly gardens, could always gladden and refresh his spirit.
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