"Because it is put in by a Mr. Dombrain. He is Rupert Pethram's solicitor. Oh, I know him, better than he thinks. All these years I have been away from my child I have watched over her. Ah, yes! I know all of her life in New Zealand. I have good friends there. I found out when her father brought her to England, and that is why I came over here so quickly. I intended to see her again--to speak to her--but without revealing I was her unhappy mother. But--I was afraid of Pethram. Yes, you may smile, Stephano, but you do not know him. I do."
"E incrédibile. You who fear no one."
"I do not fear him physically," she said proudly, with a savage flash from her fierce eyes. "I fear no man in that way. But I am afraid because of my daughter. She thinks I am dead. It is better than that she should know I am a divorced, disgraced woman. If Sir Rupert were angry he might tell her all, and then--and then--oh, God! I could not bear to see her again. She would despise me. She would look on me with scorn. My own child. Ah, I should die--I should die!"
The tears actually came into her eyes, and for a moment softened their fierceness. This woman, hard and undisciplined, with savage instincts derived from a savage mother, yet felt the strong maternal instinct implanted in the breast of every woman, and quailed with terror as she thought of the power her former husband had to lower her in the eyes of her daughter. Ferrari, of course, could not understand this, having been always accustomed to think of Mrs. Belswin as an untamed tigress, but now she had a touch of feminine softness about her which puzzled him.
"Ah! the strangeness of women," he said philosophically. "Ebbene, now il marito is away, what will you do?"
"I'm going to see Mr. Dombrain, and obtain the situation of companion to my own daughter."
"Not so fast, Signora! She will know you."
"No; she will not know me," replied Mrs. Belswin softly; "she does not remember me. When I left her she was a little child. She thinks I am dead. I go to her as a stranger. It is hard; it is terribly hard. I will see her. I will speak to her. I will perhaps kiss her; but I dare not say, 'child, I am your mother!' Ah, it is cruel--but it is my punishment."
"It is a good plan for you, cara mia! But about me, you forget your faithful Stephano!"
"No, I do not," she said coaxingly, for she was afraid he would spoil all, knowing what he did; "but you must wait. I want to see my daughter--to live with her for a time. When my husband returns he will know me, so I must leave before he sees me. Then I will come back to thee, carissima."