Phædra paused, and, with her head bent upon her hand, remained silent some moments; then she resumed:
"When that unfortunate lady had been dead some time, and one nurse after another had been intrusted with the care of her child, and had failed to give satisfaction, my year at last being up with my city employer, my master took me home, to mind Master Oswald. It was the first time I had seen the baby, although he had come home with his mother, and was in the carriage with his nurse at the very time that she first set foot upon the threshold of her new home. Master Oswald was about two years old when I first took charge of him; and if my heart had been ever so seared and hardened, it could not but have been touched at the sight of that motherless infant—so puny, neglected and suffering, as he looked. Well, I took care of him—Heaven knows I did—excellent care of him, or he would not be living now. But he doesn't remember that. How should he, indeed, when even his father did not remember it, although many, many times, when he saw how his heir thrived under my care, he would praise me, and promise me such great things for my own poor boy. Well, I was sure he would keep his word. He has not done so; and I could find it in my heart to pray for both your death and mine!" exclaimed Phædra, with a short, sudden sob, as if she were on the eve of another burst of violent emotion.
"Do not grieve, mother; Mr. Waring has not done ill by us, I am sure. I have had as happy a life with him as my own nature will permit. I could not have borne life with a master less good-natured and tolerant. In truth, if our mutual relations had been reversed, I fear that I should not have been so uniformly kind as he. In fact, barring a little selfishness, where his habits and personal comforts are concerned, he is one of the very kindest of men. You know how he has regarded us both, from his boyhood——"
"Until he left home—he changed to us from that time."
"Only for a while, when he was at school, and his classmates laughed at him for his attachment to me, and he grew angry and ashamed to show it; now he is his old self again. And, mother, there is but one obstacle to his realizing for us the hopes his father disappointed."
"And what is that, Valentine?"
"His affection for us both, that has in it a certain alloy of selfishness, as, indeed, many other people's affections for others also have. He loves us both, in a different way; and he loves his own comfort in us. He would not like to lose his faithful, motherly housekeeper, or his confidential, attached valet; or that either the one or the other should have the power to leave him at will. Ah, mother, I can understand Master Oswald better than any one else in the world can. I can read his heart like an open book; and, moreover, I can in most things wind him around my finger like a string. Look at these things. Why do you suppose he collected them? He doesn't care for anything like this, but I delight in them, and so I persuaded him to collect them to adorn his rooms. I did not do so for my own gratification alone, but that I really did wish to see him cultivate a refined taste. Now, we are soon going to Europe. Why? Do you think he wished to go at first? No; he never would have thought of it. It would have been a great deal too much trouble to take the lead in such a plan, but I thought he ought to make the grand tour, like other young men of fortune; besides which, I had a desire to travel myself. So I persuaded him that a gentleman of fashion (as he desires to be thought, you know) ought to see Europe. So we go! Why, bless his easy, good-natured heart, I have such great power over him—may I never abuse it! that ninety-nine days out of a hundred it is I who am master!"
"But the hundredth day, Valentine!"
The boy's face suddenly changed.
"I had rather not think of that, mother," he said, in an altered voice.