MATER DOLOROSA.
"Madonna, who hath ever stood
As type of holy motherhood,
I pray thee, for thy Son's dear sake,
This sorrow from my bosom take.
For there are those, with anger wild,
Who wound the mother thro' the child.
I know that thou wilt pity me,
For thy Son hung upon the tree.
And as He died to save and bless,
Oh, help me, thou, in my distress."
After he had finished a very nice little dinner, with a small bottle of champagne to add zest to it, Mr. Beaumont lighted a cigarette, and sat down comfortably before the fire, in order to wait for Reginald Blake. He had written to the young man, announcing his arrival and asking him to call, so he had no doubt but that he would be favoured with a visit. Having, therefore, arranged his plan of action, he lay back indolently in his chair, making plans for the future, and building air-castles amid the blue spirals of smoke which curled upward from his lips.
About seven o'clock he heard a knock at the door, and in answer to his invitation to enter, a woman made her appearance. Beaumont, who had merely turned his head to greet Reginald, was rather astonished at this unexpected guest, and arose to his feet in order to see who it was. His visitor closed the door carefully after her and stepped forward so that she came within the circle of light cast by the lamp on the table, then, throwing back her veil, looked steadily at the artist.
"Patience!"
"Yes, Patience," she replied, sitting down on a chair near the table. "You did not expect to see me?"
"Well, no," answered Beaumont, indolently leaning against the mantelpiece. "I must confess I did not--but if you want to speak with me, I can spare you very little time, as I am waiting----"
"For Reginald?" she interrupted quickly. "Yes, I know that."
"The deuce you do! What a wonderful woman you are! How did you find out I was here?"
"I left instructions that I was to be informed of your arrival, as I wished to speak with you before you saw our son."