– Can you tell me, my good man, who is this marvellous flower? – Lord Draymore asked a peasant passing by.

– Cassie Glowford," he replied, bowing respectfully to the Count.

– Another daughter of the parson? – The viscount was surprised to see the pretty girl with a smile.

– Yes, the youngest. But she's not very well," the peasant said quietly, touching his fingers to his forehead.

– Not well? You mean mentally ill? – questioned the Count, who had already set his eyes on the fragile creature.

– No, but she's like a child, she doesn't understand much. She has the brains of a child. That's it," explained the poor man, and sighed sadly. – Such a pity for her, poor thing.

– Well, good man, go," said the Count of Draymore, disappointed in Cassie.

– Poor girl," said Viscount Wilworth, watching her with sincere pity in his heart. – "Think how hard it must be for her father.

– Of course, it's. It is impossible to marry her off, for no one would be tempted to take spoilt goods," said the earl, with a grim sneer, as he saw Pastor Glowford approaching them with displeasure.

Viscount Wilworth looked at Cassie and could not believe that this angel was not quite well. Cassie was still sleepy: she was smiling absent-mindedly after her nap and looked touching and sad. Then Catherine came to the girl, took her under her arm, and led her away.

Young Cassie so struck the viscount that he was deeply interested in her fate, her life and how she saw the world through the prism of her undeveloped mind. The gentleman, imbued with good feelings for the poor girl, decided to ask the parson about her illness and whether he had given his young daughter the necessary treatment.

– Reverend Glowford! You have lovely daughters, especially your youngest," the Count said affably to the parson, shaking hands with him.

– Yes, sir, Cassie is my treasure and a reminder of past sins," the parson replied briefly, tugging at a sore heart string.

– 'One of your parishioners said she is a developmental child,' Dominic Wilworth told him.

– 'Yes, she's seventeen, but mentally she's no more than six.

– Forgive me for saying this, for I must be hurting you, but have you treated her? – asked the Viscount.

– No. Cassie was given to me by God, and therefore she is perfect," Pastor Glowford answered him gravely. – But, please, let's not talk about that. Lord Draymore, could I have your attention for a moment?

– I beg your pardon, reverend, but I have no time to spare at the moment," said the Count hastily, anxious to be away from the parson and this dreadful village for a day. – I have urgent business to attend to. You see, the mass has already made me late.

– Oh, sir, I apologise for delaying you," said the parson, embarrassed.

– Not at all, reverend. If you wish to speak to me, you must come to my manor, I am ready to give you an audience," Colin announced as he got into the carriage. – Tomorrow I shall be deprived of all my troubles and urgent correspondence, so come at any time. You may take your pretty daughters with you.

– Thank you, Lord Draymore, for such a high honour! – the parson rejoiced.

– I wish you a most pleasant day, reverend.

The parson left the nobles and turned to his parishioners: after the service he always asked them if they had understood his sermon.

– What are you plotting? Why should he bring his daughters? – Viscount Wilworth frowned, disapproving of his friend's suggestion.

– 'I was merely following the bounds of politeness. Don't worry: the old man is not as simple as he seems," the Count grinned, but his thoughts were different from his words.

– What wrong?

Christine looked indifferently at Catherine, who was staring at her sister and her clay bowl full of porridge with distaste.

– This porridge is disgusting," Christine answered her sister sullenly.

She was lying: it was not the unleavened wheat porridge that was the cause of her thoughtfulness, but thoughts of the handsome landlord who had stared at Christine in the church, and she wondered with rapt attention what his gaze might have meant.

– Disgusted? – Catherine frowned. – Even Cassie eats that porridge, and she doesn't find it disgusting.

– Of course, she does not! Give her slop and she'll eat it," Christine mockingly muttered, annoyed.

– How could you? – Kate asked sharply, angered by the hurtful words about her younger sister. – Apologise now!

– I won't," Christine shrugged. She glanced at Cassie, who was busy scooping porridge with a wooden spoon and not looking at her sisters. – The silly girl hadn't understood a thing.

Catherine's face tensed as she couldn't bear the fact that Christine had been so dismissive of poor Cassandra.

– It wasn't her fault that she had been born unhealthy! God had sent her to us! – she gritted her teeth. – You should be ashamed to say such a thing!

Angry at her older sister's lecture, Christine angrily threw her spoon on the table and left the house. Cassie shuddered at the clatter of the wooden spoon on the table and looked questioningly at Catherine.

– 'It's all right, sweetheart. Christine wanted to go for a walk in the field," Kate reassured her, used to shielding her younger sister from upsetting her.

– Can I go for a walk, too? – Cassie asked, licking the rest of her porridge off her plate.

– I told you it's not nice to do that! – Kate said sternly when she saw her sister's behaviour.

Cassie immediately stopped what she was doing and put her plate on the table.

– Katie, can I go for a walk? – The girl asked hopefully again.

– We have to wait for Dad.

– "Oh," Cassie said disappointedly. – When will he be back?

– He'll be here soon. You know what? Let's fix your dress," Catherine said, getting up from the table and clearing away the dirty plates. – But first we'll wash the dishes.

She grabbed the plates, went out into the yard, washed them thoroughly in a barrel of water and returned home. Then Catherine took Cassie's torn dress out of the clothes chest and began to mend it with short, inconspicuous stitches.

– Why is there such a hole here? – Catherine asked her sister.

– Where?" she said indifferently. – I don't know, Katie.

Cassie sat down on her mattress and began to play with a hideous straw doll, which she loved in spite of its ugliness. She had no other toys.

– Honey, try to be more careful, will you? – Kate told her affectionately. – You know you have to keep things safe, right? Will you try?

– Mm-hmm. Can I go for a walk?

– No. Dad's not back yet.

Cassie glanced sadly at Catherine, tossed the doll into a corner, and watched as her sister deftly stitched her tattered dress. Seeing the curiosity on her younger sister's face, Kate smiled affectionately and stroked her curly hair.

"Poor Cassie! She doesn't realise that Christine doesn't have an ounce of sisterly love for her! But it must be so: the Lord is purposely protecting her sick mind from hurt and regret," thought Catherine sadly.

***

Christine, feeling resentful at Catherine's reproach, hastened to get away from home; she sat down under a large, budding oak tree, wrapped herself in her threadbare woollen shawl, and tearfully reflected on her poverty. Walsingham, which two centuries ago had been a large, flourishing and wealthy village, but which had gradually turned into a dying tiny hamlet, bound this vain beauty. Christine felt trapped in the dark stone house of the Glowfords: the clay floor, the cold walls, the cracked frames of the only window – all this pressed on the girl, deprived of joy and peace. At the same time, her life was poisoned by her younger sister: Christine disliked Cassie because she required delicate care, like a rare flower, and was filled with envy that her father loved Cassie more than she did. And Cassie was so beautiful that Christine's heart oozed with the poisonous bile of envy of her sick sister's beauty. The girl was desperate, and her deepest dream was to escape from the dying Walsingham ruins. However, she lacked the courage to dare to take such a bold step.