But she would not--she must not. Her heritage of faith in goodness--both of G.o.d and man--kept her heart open, and gave her power to think and act rightly in this her hour of terrible trial; even as a little child, being behind the veil which separates the soul from G.o.d, may, in its innocent prattle, utter words of superhuman wisdom.

"I am sorry if I have interrupted you when you have company," she said slowly. "I am a stranger--an American."

"Ah, you Americans are a happy lot and may go where you please. Take this seat by the window; it is very warm. My son has been in America, but he tells us so little, we are none the wiser for that, about your part of the world."

"I knew him in America. That is why I called."

"Yes?" The mother bent forward and regarded her curiously, attentively.

"He lived very near us. He did a great deal of good--among the poor."

She put her hand to her slender white throat, then dropped it again in her lap. Then, looking in Lady Thryng's eyes, she said: "I have seen your picture. I should have known you from that, but you are more beautiful."

"Oh! That can hardly be, my dear! It was taken many years ago, you know."

"Yes, he said so--his lordship--only there we called him Doctah Thryng."

A shadow flitted over the mother's face. "He was a pract.i.tioner over there--never in England."

"That is a pity; it is such n.o.ble work. But perhaps he has other things to do here."

"He has--even more n.o.ble work than the practice of medicine."

"What does he do here?" asked Ca.s.sandra, in a low voice.

"He must take part in the affairs of government. Very ordinary men may study and practise medicine, but unless men who are wise, and are n.o.bly born and bred, make it their business to care for the affairs of their country, the nation would soon be wrecked. That is what saves England and makes her great."

"I see." Ca.s.sandra sat silent then, and Lady Thryng waited expectantly for her errand to be declared, curious about this beautiful young creature who had stepped into her home unannounced from out of the unknown, yet graciously kindly and unhurried. "I think I know. With us men are too careless. They think it isn't necessary, I suppose." Again she paused with parted lips, as if she would speak on, but could not.

"With you, men are too busy making money, I am told. It is necessary to have a leisure cla.s.s like ours."

"Oh!" Ca.s.sandra caught her breath and smiled. She was thinking of the silver pot her mother had enjoined her to take with her, and why. "But we do think a great deal of family; even the simplest of us care for that, although we have no leisure cla.s.s--only the loafers. I'm afraid you think it very strange I should come to you in this way, but I--thought I would like to see Doctah Thryng again, and when I heard he was not in England, I thought I would come to you and bring the messages from those who loved him when he was with us. But I mustn't stop now and take your time. I'll write them instead, only that wouldn't be like seeing him. He stayed a whole year at our place."

"And you came from Canada?"

"Oh, no. A long way from there. My home is in North Carolina."

"Oh, indeed! How very interesting! That must have been when he was so ill." Then, noticing Ca.s.sandra's extreme pallor, she begged her most kindly to come out on the terrace and have tea; but she would not. She felt her fort.i.tude giving way, and knew she must hasten. "But you must, you know. The heat and your long ride have made you faint."

"I--I'm afraid so. It--won't--last."

"Wait, then. You must take a little wine; you need it." Roused to sympathy, Lady Thryng left her a moment and returned immediately with a gla.s.s of wine, which she held to her lips with her own hand. "There, you will soon be better. Here is a fan. It really is very warm. Indeed, you must have tea before you go."

She took her pa.s.sive hand and led her out on the terrace unresisting, and again Ca.s.sandra was minded to throw her arms about the lovely woman's neck, who was so sweet and kind, and sob on her bosom and tell her all--but David had his own reasons, and she would not.

"Do you stay long in England?"

"I am going to-morrow. Oh!" she exclaimed, as they stepped out, and she saw the number of elaborately dressed guests moving about and gayly chatting and laughing. "I can't go out there. I am a strangah." It was a low melancholy wail as she said it, and long afterward Lady Thryng remembered that moaning cry, "I am a strangah."

"No, no. You are an American and a very beautiful one. Come, they will be glad to meet you. Give me your name again."

"Thank you--but I must--must go back." Suddenly, with a cry, "My baby, he is mine," she swept forward with long, swinging steps toward a group who were bending over a rosy-cheeked girl, who was seated on the steps of the terrace with a child in her arms. She was comforting him and cuddling and petting him, and those around her were exclaiming as young girls will: "Isn't he a dear!"--"Oh, let me hold him a moment!"--"There, he is going to cry again. No wonder, poor little chap!"--"Oh, look at his curls--so cunning--give him to me."

Seeing his mother, he put up his arms to her and smiled, while two tears rolled down his round baby cheeks.

"I found him in the pony carriage with Hetty Giles, and he was crying so--and such a darling! I just took him away--the love!" cried Laura.

"Why, we saw you yesterday at the Victoria. I could not pa.s.s him by, you remember?"

The baby, one beaming smile, nestled his face bashfully in his mother's neck and patted her cheek, glancing sidewise at his admirers through br.i.m.m.i.n.g tears, while Ca.s.sandra, her eyes large and pathetic, turned now on Laura, now on her mother, stood silent, quivering like one of her own mountain creatures brought to bay. But she was strengthened as she felt her baby again in her arms, and as she stood thus looking about her, every one became silent, and she was constrained to speak. She did not know that something in her manner and appearance had commanded silence--something tragic--despairing. It was but for an instant, then she turned to Lady Laura.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Ca.s.sandra stood silent, quivering like one of her own mountain creatures brought to bay. Page 286._]

"Thank you for comforting him. I ought not to have left him. I nevah did before, with strangahs." She tried to bid Lady Thryng good-by, but Laura again besought her to stop and have tea.

"Please do. I fairly adore Americans. I want to talk to you; I mean, to hear you talk."

Ca.s.sandra had mastered herself at last, and replied quietly: "I don't guess I can stay, thank you. You have been so kind." Then she said to Lady Thryng, "Good-by," and moved away. Laura walked by her side to the carriage.

"I hope you'll come again sometime, and let me know you."

"You are right kind to say that. I shall nevah forget." Then, leaning down from the carriage seat, and looking steadily in Laura's warm, dark eyes, she added: "No, I shall nevah forget. May I kiss you?"

"You sweet thing!" said the girl, impulsively, and, reaching up, they kissed. Ca.s.sandra said in her heart, "For David," and was driven away.

Laura found her mother standing where they had left her. She had been deeply stirred by the sight of Ca.s.sandra with the child in her arms. Not that beautiful mothers and lovely children were rare in England; but that, except for the children of the poor, no little one like this had been in her own home or so near her in all the years of her widowhood.

It was the sight of that strong mother love, overpowering and sweeping all before it, recognizing no lesser call--the secret and holy power that lies in the Christ-mother, for all periods and all peoples--she herself had felt it--and the cry that had burst from Ca.s.sandra's lips, "My baby--he is mine." Tears stood in Lady Thryng's eyes, and yet it was such a simple little thing. Mothers and babies? Why, they were everywhere.

"She moved like a tragic queen," said Lady Clara. "What was the matter?"

"Nothing, only her baby had been crying; but wasn't he a love?" said Lady Laura.

"I say! He was a perfect dear!" said one and another.

"I don't care much for babies," said Lady Clara. "They ought to be trained to stay with their nurses and not cry after their mammas like that. Fancy having to take such a child around with one everywhere, even in making a formal call, you know! Isn't it absurd? American women spoil their children dreadfully, I have heard."

CHAPTER x.x.xI

IN WHICH DAVID AND HIS MOTHER DO NOT AGREE

The day after Ca.s.sandra's flight from Queensderry David returned.

Although greatly prolonged, his African expedition had been successful, and he was pleased. He had improved his opportunities to learn political conditions and know what might best advance England's power in that remote portion of her possessions.

Mr. Stretton had informed him that he might soon be called to a seat in the House, and he was glad to be in a measure prepared to hold opinions of his own on a few, at least, of the vital issues. Canada he already knew well, and to be conversant also with the state of affairs in South Africa gave him greater confidence.

The first afternoon of his return he spent in looking over the changes which had been in progress at Daneshead during his absence. In spite of his weariness, he seemed buoyant and gay, more so, his mother thought, than at any time since his return from America. She said nothing about the episode of Ca.s.sandra's call,--possibly for the time it was forgotten,--but as they parted for the night, when they were alone together, Lady Thryng again broached to her son the subject of his marriage.