"Yes; I suppose so," said Augustine. As they walked he did not take his eyes off his mother's face.
"Aren't you tired?" he asked.
"Not at all. I slept well."
"Your shoes are quite wet," said Augustine, looking down at them.
"Yes; the meadows were thick with dew."
"You didn't keep to the path?"
"Yes;—no, I remember."—she looked down at her shoes, trying, obediently, to satisfy him, "I turned aside to look at the cows."
"Will you please change your shoes at once?"
"I'll go up now and change them. And will you wait for me in the drawing-room, Augustine."
"Yes." She saw that he was still frightened, and remembering how strange she must have looked to him, standing still, with upturned face and outstretched hands, in the sycamore wood, she smiled at him:—"I am well, dear, don't be troubled," she said.