“I see you have not forgotten your most delightful pursuit,” said Mr. Wilton, and he looked towards the musical instruments.
“No,” said the lady; “throned or discrowned, music has ever been the charm or consolation of my life.”
“Pleasure should follow business,” said Mr. Wilton, “and we have transacted ours. Would it be too bold if I asked again to hear those tones which have so often enchanted me?”
“My voice has not fallen off,” said the lady, “for you know it was never first-rate. But they were kind enough to say it had some expression, probably because I generally sang my own words to my own music. I will sing you my farewell to Florestan,” she added gaily, and took up her guitar, and then in tones of melancholy sweetness, breaking at last into a gushing burst of long-controlled affection, she expressed the agony and devotion of a mother’s heart. Mr. Wilton was a little agitated; her son left the room. The mother turned round with a smiling face, and said, “The darling cannot bear to hear it, but I sing it on purpose, to prepare him for the inevitable.”
“He is soft-hearted,” said Mr. Wilton.
“He is the most affectionate of beings,” replied the mother. “Affectionate and mysterious. I can say no more. I ought to tell you his character. I cannot. You may say he may have none. I do not know. He has abilities, for he acquires knowledge with facility, and knows a great deal for a boy. But he never gives an opinion. He is silent and solitary. Poor darling! he has rarely had companions, and that may be the cause. He seems to me always to be thinking.”
“Well, a public school will rouse him from his reveries,” said Mr. Wilton.
“As he is away at this moment, I will say that which I should not care to say before his face,” said the lady. “You are about to do me a great service, not the first; and before I leave this, we may—we must—meet again more than once, but there is no time like the present. The separation between Florestan and myself may be final. It is sad to think of such things, but they must be thought of, for they are probable. I still look in a mirror, Sidney; I am not so frightened by what has occurred since we first met, to be afraid of that—but I never deceive myself. I do not know what may be the magical effect of the raisins of Malaga, but if it saves my life the grape cure will indeed achieve a miracle. Do not look gloomy. Those who have known real grief seldom seem sad. I have been struggling with sorrow for ten years, but I have got through it with music and singing, and my boy. See now—he will be a source of expense, and it will not do for you to be looking to a woman for supplies. Women are generous, but not precise in money matters. I have some excuse, for the world has treated me not very well. I never got my pension regularly; now I never get it at all. So much for the treaties, but everybody laughs at them. Here is the fortune of Florestan, and I wish it all to be spent on his education,” and she took a case from her bosom. “They are not the crown jewels, though. The memoirs I was reading the other day say I ran away with them. That is false, like most things said of me. But these are gems of Golconda, which I wish you to realise and expend for his service. They were the gift of love, and they were worn in love.”
“It is unnecessary,” said Mr. Wilton, deprecating the offer by his attitude.
“Hush!” said the lady. “I am still a sovereign to you, and I must be obeyed.”