‘A lady!’ I repeated, in utter bewilderment, whilst my schoolmates crowded round Mrs Murray, with the question, ‘Is she come to take Vere home?’
‘Perhaps! most probably,’ was her answer, whilst exclamations of, ‘Oh, I say, that’s a jolly shame. It isn’t fair. School doesn’t break up till to-morrow. We sha’n’t get off to-day, try as hard as we may,’ greeted her supposition from every side, and I, trembling like a culprit, affirmed that I would much rather not be introduced to the pleasures of home one hour earlier than was needful.
‘Come into the parlour, dear, and see the lady,’ Mrs Murray replied, ‘and we will decide what to do afterwards.’
So my face and hair were hurriedly washed and arranged, and I sheepishly followed my master’s wife to the formal little apartment dedicated to the reception of visitors, where we found the lady she had alluded to.
Shall I ever forget her face as she rose to greet me, and drew me into her arms! Such a fair, sweet, fresh face as it was, but with an amount of sorrowful thought pictured in the serious eyes.
‘And so this is Charlie Vere,’ she said, as she gazed into my features. ‘I should have known you anywhere, my darling, from your likeness to your father! And now do you guess who I am?’
‘No!’ I answered, shyly; for Mrs Murray had slipped away and left me all alone with the stranger.
‘I am your mother, dear; your new mother who means to love you very dearly, and I have come to take you home!’
Mother and Home! How sweet the dear familiar words sounded in my ears; familiar alas! to everyone but me. The hawthorn blossoms in the playground seemed to smell sweeter than they had done before, as she pronounced them, and the birds’ chorus rang out harmoniously.
‘Will papa be there?’ I asked, nervously.