After dinner the question of Tito again arose; and, pending her son’s return, Madam compromised her own judgment and sent off an order for food and bedding sufficient for a few days’ need. “I’m growing very weak and indulgent,” she said, apologetically, to Mary Jane. “But this arrival was so unexpected, it may be as well to await Daniel’s decision.”
“Yes’m. An’ I do ’low you won’t be sorry. She don’t ask ner tease fer nothin’; hain’t never sence she come. ’Bout them books, even; I’ve seen her a marchin’ back an’ forth, back an’ forth, a lookin’ through the glass at ’em that longin’ ’at I’ve be’n a’most a mind ter open the bookcases an’ show ’em to her. But, o’ course, I didn’t; an’ she didn’t say ary word, ner even look mad, only kinder hungry-like. ’Twould be a pity not ter let her have her pony, seems ter me. Mr. Sutry, he says she kin beat any circuser ’tever was. She’s rid’ ever sence she was a baby; an’ them men out ter Californy—‘boys,’ she calls ’em—’d a never let her come east in the world if it hadn’t a be’n fer her pa’s eyes. When’s he comin’ home, Ma’am?”
“Soon, I hope. And that he will be reassured concerning his dreaded blindness. It cannot be that a Calthorp—such a strong, healthy, handsome man he is, Mary Jane—should suffer such a physical blemish!”
In that sentence spoke one of Madam Calthorp’s strongest prejudices. Against imperfection of any sort her proud heart rebelled. Her own physique was faultless. She wore her years and her white hairs as royally as a queen her ermine mantle. She had always prayed that she might die thus, in her full vigor, before any mortal weakness touched her; and her feeling of this sort extended to all belonging to her. If her son died, she would mourn him; but if he lived, a helpless wreck, she dared not contemplate the prospect.
“No, it don’t ’pear so; but the ‘don’t ’pear so-s’ are gen’ally what happens; an’ though I hate ter say it, I think you’d oughter know that Mr. Dan’l went away a’most convicted in his own mind ’at he wouldn’t never see no more o’ this mortal speer ’an he saw then.”
“Mary Jane! But you are not always a true prophet.”
“An’ I hope, with all that’s in me, ’at I ain’t now!”
But—she was. An attendant brought Daniel Calthorp home that night; and the first glance which his mother cast upon his face disclosed that his last hope of restored sight had gone out from it.
CHAPTER IX.
