The words were used in the form of a question; and I was immediately conscious that they were the prelude to something of importance, for there was trouble in my mother's face. I also was troubled; a new sorrow had entered into my life, a sorrow with which of course Jessie was connected. All that there was for me of joy and pain in the world was associated with her.
I hesitated in my answer. Jessie had pledged me to secrecy with reference to the peculiar nature of her intimacy with the Wests and to her passion for acting, and I would not betray her, not even to my mother. There were confidences between Jessie and me which even she could not share. My mother and I had but few opportunities for conversation during this time, for very little of my time was spent at home. Wherever Jessie went I was bound to follow. It did not matter--except in the sorrow that it caused me--that she gave me less encouragement than formerly; it did not matter that certain undefinable signs from her, which I had hitherto treasured in my heart of hearts as proofs of her love, came rarely and more rarely; the rarer they were the more precious they were. I found excuses for her: in my own inferiority, which hourly and daily impressed itself more painfully upon me; in my being poor; in her being so beautiful and so far above me. I could not see, I dared not think, how it was to end; but I followed her blindly, clung to her blindly.
My mother observed my hesitation, and divined the cause.
'Nay, my dear,' she said, in a sad and gentle tone, 'I do not ask you to tell me anything you think you ought to keep to yourself. I have not forfeited your confidence, have I, my darling?'
Before I could reply, she placed her hand to her heart, and uttered an exclamation of pain.
'Mother!' I cried.
'It is nothing, dear child,' she said; 'it is only a pain in my side that has come once or twice lately. Put your arms round my neck, my darling; it will pass away directly.'
She rested her head upon my shoulder and closed her eyes, holding me tightly to her.
'I am better now, dear child,' she said presently, with a sweet smile.
Could I see nothing in her face but physical pain? No, nothing. The old patient look was there, the old tender love was there. What more could I have seen, had I not been blind?