Gideon Rolfe strode forward, his face set hard and sternly cold, and as he reached the cottage he took Una’s hand in his, and looking steadily into Stephen’s eyes, said:
“Mr. Davenant, I have informed my daughter of your mother’s offer to take her under her charge, but I have asked her to postpone her answer until she saw you.”
Stephen bowed, and laid his white hand on his mother’s arm.
“Miss Rolfe,” he said, in a low voice in which paternal kindness and social respect were delicately blended, “this lady is my mother. Like most mothers whose children have flown from the nest, she lives alone and feels her solitude. She is desirous of finding some young lady who will consent to share it with her. It is not only a home she offers you, but—I think I may add, mother—a heart.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Davenant, and as she held out her hand her voice trembled and a tear shone in her eye.
Una, who had been looking from one to the other, with the breath coming in little pants through her half parted lips, drew near and put her hand in the outstretched one, but the next moment turned and clung to Gideon’s arm with a sudden sob.
“Oh, father, I cannot leave you!” she murmured.
Gideon bent his head, perhaps to hide his face, which was working with emotion.
“Hush! it is for the best. Remember what I have said. You wanted to see the world——”
“Yes—with you,” said Una, audibly.