"Is it to the country you wish to go, ma'm?" The baby in her arms stirred, and the nurse swayed gently back and forth to hush it.

"Yes."

"I couldn't go with you myself, ma'm--but--"

"Oh, no! I didn't mean you. I only thought if you had a sister--or a friend, maybe, who could help me for a little while."

"I saw you this morning, ma'm, as you went out. I'll see what I can do.

What number is your room? and what name? I mustn't talk here. Mrs.

Darling is very particular."

"Oh, never mind, then." Ca.s.sandra turned away in sudden shame lest she had not done the right thing. The nurse watched her return to her room as swiftly as she had left it, and took note of the number.

"How very odd!" said the young woman to herself.

Ca.s.sandra felt more abashed under the round-eyed gaze of the maid than if she had encountered the queen. Her ring for a messenger had not been answered, and she did not know how to find her husband's country-seat.

She felt faint and weary, but did not think of hunger, nor that it was long past the dinner-hour, and that she had eaten nothing since her early breakfast. She only thought that she must be brave and try--try to think how to reach David's people.

Resolutely she closed her door, and dressed her baby carefully; then she arrayed herself in the soft silk gown, and the wide hat with the heavy plume, and then--could David have seen her with her courageous eyes and lifted head, and the faint color from excitement in her cheeks--he would no longer have feared to take her by the hand and lead her to his mother and say, "She is my wife, and the loveliest lady in the land."

People looked at her as she pa.s.sed, and turned to look again. Down wide, carpeted stairs she went, until she came to a broad landing with recessed windows, where were round polished tables and people seated, sipping tea and eating thin bread and b.u.t.ter and m.u.f.fins. Then Ca.s.sandra knew that she was hungry and sat herself in one of the windows apart, before a table. Presently a young man came and bent down to her as if listening. She looked up at him in bewilderment, but at the same instant, seeing another young man similarly dressed bearing a tray of m.u.f.fins and tea to a lady and gentleman near by, she said:--

"I would like tea, please."

"W'ot kind, ma'm?" She did not care what kind, nor know for what to ask, only to have something soon, so she said:--

"I will take what they have."

"Yes, ma'm. m.u.f.fins, ma'm?"

"Yes," she replied wearily, and turned to gaze out of the window. Cabs and carriages were rushing up and down the street below them. She placed her little son on the seat beside her and held him with sheltering arm, while he watched the moving vehicles and looked from them to his mother's face.

"What a perfectly lovely child!" said a pleasant voice. "Is it a boy?

How old is he?"

Ca.s.sandra looked up to see a rosy-cheeked girl, a little too stout and florid, with a great mop of dark hair tied with a wide black ribbon. A gray-haired lady followed, and paused beside her.

"Yes," said Ca.s.sandra, faintly. "He is almost six months old."

The girl reached over and patted his cheek. "How perfectly dear. See him, mamma. Isn't he, though?"

"Babies are always dear," said the mother, with a smile. "Come, Laura, we can't wait, you know," and they pa.s.sed on. As Ca.s.sandra looked up in the mother's face, something stirred vaguely in her heart. Had she seen her before? Possibly, so many had paused to speak to her in this casual way since she left home.

Then her tea and crisp, hot m.u.f.fins were brought. The young girl's pleasant words had warmed her heart, and the refreshment gave her more courage. She made her way to the office and inquired how she might find Lord Thryng's country home. The clerk wrote the address promptly on a card, but the keen look of interest with which he handed it to her caused her to shrink inwardly. Why, what was it to him what place she asked for? She lifted her head proudly. She must not falter.

"I wish to go there. Will you tell me how, please?"

But the surprise of the clerk was quite natural, as she had signed the hotel register the evening before with her whole name, giving no thought to it; and now he wondered what relation she might be to the family so lately come into the t.i.tle, since she bore the name, yet seemed to know so little about them. He explained to her courteously--almost deferentially.

"Will you go to Daneshead Castle itself, ma'm, or stop in Queensderry?"

As she had no idea what the question involved, she replied at hazard.

"I will stop in Queensderry." And her bags were brought down, and she was despatched to the right station without more delay.

CHAPTER x.x.x

IN WHICH Ca.s.sANDRA GOES TO QUEENSDERRY AND TAKES A DRIVE IN A PONY CARRIAGE

Glad to be borne away from the city and out through fresh green fields and past pretty church-spired villages, alone in the compartment, Ca.s.sandra comforted herself with her baby, playing with him until he dropped to sleep, when she made a bed for him on the car seat with rugs, and, taking out her purse, began to count her remaining resources. Her bill at the hotel had appalled her. So much to pay to stay only a night!

What would David say? But he had told her to use the money as she liked, and now she was here, there was nothing else to do.

Laboriously she computed the amount in English money, and, reckoned thus, her dollars and cents seemed to shrink and vanish. Still, more than half remained of what she had brought with her, and she viewed the matter calmly.

The shadows fell long over the smooth greensward as she arrived in the village of Queensderry and was driven to a small inn, the only house of entertainment in the place. She was given a pleasant room overlooking fields and orchards and bright gardens, and the sight rested her eyes, and still further calmed her troubled heart. She would rest to-night, and to-morrow all would be well.

Never had food tasted better to her than the supper served in her pretty room,--toast in a silver rack, and fresh b.u.t.ter, such as David loved, and curds and whey, and gingerbread, and a small jar of marmalade. She ate, seated in the window, looking out over the sweet English landscape in the warm twilight--the breeze stirring the white curtains--her little son in her lap gurgling and smiling up at her--and her heart with David, wherever he might be.

Slowly the dusk veiled all, and one star glimmered above the slender church spire. A pretty maid brought candles and a book in which she was asked to write her name. She was the landlady's daughter and looked wholesome and bright. Ca.s.sandra glanced in her face as she set the candles down, and took up the pen mechanically.

"Mother says will you sign here, please?"

"Yes." Ca.s.sandra turned the leaves slowly and read other names and addresses--many of them. She wrote "Ca.s.sandra Merlin--" and paused; then, making a long dash, added simply, "America," and, handing back the book and pen, turned again to the window.

"Thank you. Is that all?" said the maid, lingering.

"Yes," said Ca.s.sandra again; then she laid her baby on the bed and began taking his night clothing from her bag.

"How pretty he is! Shan't I help you unpack, ma'm?"

Ca.s.sandra paused, looking dreamily before her as if scarcely comprehending, then she said: "Not to-night, thank you. Perhaps to-morrow." The maid deftly piled the supper dishes and, taking them and the book with her, departed with a pleasant "Good night, ma'm."

In spite of her calmness, Ca.s.sandra lay wakeful and patient, and when at last she did sleep, it seemed to her she stood with her husband on her father's path, looking out under overarching boughs, upon blue distances of heaped-up mountain tops, and David's flute notes, silvery sweet, were raining down upon her. She awoke to discover day was breaking, and a pealing of bells from some distant church tower was announcing the fact.

She gathered her babe to her throbbing heart and thought, to-day she was to go out and meet her husband's people. How should she go? How should she conduct herself? Should she go at once, or wait until the afternoon?

Why had she not written her name fully in the travellers' book? What mysterious foreboding had caught her fingers and stayed them at her maiden name? Was she afraid? When she arose, she found herself trembling from head to foot, and called for her breakfast, before bathing and dressing her little son.

The same pretty maid brought it, and came again, while Ca.s.sandra bathed and nursed her baby, to set the room to rights.

"Shan't I unpack your box for you now, ma'm?" And, without waiting for a reply, she took out Ca.s.sandra's clothing, pausing now and then to admire and pet the lovely boy. Her simple friendliness pleased Ca.s.sandra, who was minded to ask some of the questions which were burdening her.

"When do people make visits here, in the morning or afternoon?"

"That depends, ma'm."