"May the good Samaritans of this world do the same for you, Mrs. Roche, when you are in trouble," says the weary wanderer, as Eleanor leads her faltering footsteps down the hill.

She is too excited by the strange coincidence of this, their second meeting, to wonder whether she is binding a burden on her back, or offering a refuge thoughtlessly without consulting Carol. She only looks pityingly at the towzled hair and drawn face of her guest, pressing her hand sympathetically as they enter the verandah together.

"I am not Mrs. Roche here," falters Eleanor; "you must call me Mrs.

Quinton."

The woman looks searchingly, sadly, into Eleanor's eyes.

"I see," she answers slowly.

"And your name?" asks Eleanor.

"Palfrey Blum. I am Mrs. Blum."

What an odd introduction, what a puzzling fate.

Carol is deeply annoyed at his return to discover the guest.

"What on earth you want to bring that hideous creature with a head of hay here for I can't imagine," he exclaims. "You must shunt her as soon as possible, Eleanor; I can't have you picking up waifs and strays, and turning our home into a sort of infirmary."

"I don't know what to do, it is a most pitiable story."

"Oh! dash the story!" interpolates Carol. "I shouldn't mind if she were not so confoundedly ugly."

"I could not help it, darling," says Eleanor tearfully. "I did not think you would object."

"Well, now she is here, what are you going to do with her?"

"I don't know."

Carol stalks up and down the room with his hands in his pockets.

Eleanor's spirits sink.

"I will see what I can do, dearest," she says at last.

Carol turns, seeing her beautiful eyes moist and sorrowful.

He gathers her into his arms and kisses her suddenly.

"Get rid of the old ghost," he whispers. "I can't endure to see a relic of faded beauty standing decayed before my eyes. A woman has no right to grow old, it is an unpardonable offence, and takes away one's appet.i.te having to look at her at meals."

"How unchristian you are, Carol!" she says, smiling under his caress.

The following morning Mrs. Blum seems refreshed, and looks less careworn after her night's sleep.

"There is one thing I desire more than all else on earth," she confides to Eleanor, "and that is to hold my grandson in my arms, and kiss him once."

"I have been again to Elizabeth, but she will not listen to me.

Perhaps I might get the boy to you without her knowledge, or big Tombo may possibly bring him. There were tears in his eyes to-day when I was pleading with Elizabeth."

"Ah! Big Tombo is not so bitter against me as his wife. He is a good man, and charitable."

So Eleanor watches for Mr. Kachin to pa.s.s down the path to the valley below, where the rice is cultivated.

When she sees him she runs out. He stops and bows. Eleanor gives him her hand.

"Ah, Mrs. Quinton," he says, "we are deeply indebted to you for your kindness to poor Mrs. Blum. Even my wife in her righteous indignation owns that. I should personally be very glad to do anything I could for her, only Elizabeth is so determined. Can you advise me?"

Eleanor thinks a moment.

"She must be sent back again, I suppose. She regrets bitterly having come."

"Has she any money?"

"Oh, yes, but hardly enough to take her home; she relied on living with you and Elizabeth. I shall help her all I can, and perhaps you will also."

Big Tombo works hard, and he has a good store of h.o.a.rdings laid by. He is an intensely generous man, and but for his wife's watchfulness would give away all that he has to others.

Eleanor inspires him to make an offer.

"I will pay her fare to England," he says. "It will save Elizabeth the pain of coming in contact with her. After all, she is my mother-in-law. It is the least that I can do."

"You are most good and kind," replies Eleanor, "and she would be deeply grateful if you came in now and told her this yourself. She feels her daughter's slight acutely."

Big Tombo bows a.s.sent.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Big Tombo bows a.s.sent.]

The beautiful Mrs. Quinton's word is law.

Mrs. Blum trembles with emotion as her eyes fall upon him. She listens to what he says with tears in her eyes and a blessing in her heart.

"You are a good son," she says, taking his great brown hands between her withered palms, and pressing them to her lips. "I love you for your care of Elizabeth--for the happy home in which she lives. When she speaks of me harshly tell her to think of me as one dead. We reverence the names of those who are underground, even though we despise them during their lives. I shall never forget what you have done for me."

Her voice is choked with emotion.

"If--if you don't mind," she falters, "I should like to look once on your child before I go."

Tombo bends his head. He has not the heart to refuse her.

That afternoon, he sends the boy, without Elizabeth's knowledge, to carry some bananas to Eleanor.

"Come in, my dear," she says kindly, as the little boy presents the fruit. "There is a lady who wishes to see you."

She takes his small hand and leads him into the room.

Mrs. Blum rushes forward with a cry, and flinging her arms round the child's neck, kisses him again and again.

Then perching him on her knee, she looks at him intently, murmuring: "Beth's boy! Beth's son!"