The answer trembled upon Sage’s lips. It was “Yes,” but she hardly dared to utter it, and it was taken from her.
“I will say it,” said the Rector. “Yes; she will come very often. Sage, my child, I never thought of this, but the future is hidden from all our eyes. You have been here to-day to see us in the character of the woman our son has chosen for his wife. Heaven’s blessing be on you, my child; he could not have made a worthier choice.”
Sage placed her hands in his, and once more he drew her to his breast, and kissed her broad white forehead.
“There,” he said cheerily, and with a smile, “kiss mamma, and then I’ll trot down home with you, for it is too dark for you to go alone. I think, mamma, dear, we’ll set aside all form and ceremony from now. What do you say?”
“Oh yes, yes. Let there be no scruples to keep you away, my dear. Of course,” she added, smiling, “you will come to see this poor invalid. Come and read to me as often as you can, for my daughters are beginning to forsake me a great deal now. Ah! you young people, you get strange fancies in your heads. You promise?”
She promised, and soon after the Rector was taking her home, chatting to her pleasantly, as if there was to be no more constraint; but all the same he could not help thinking about him who filled his companion’s thoughts, to the exclusion of Cyril.
How was Luke Ross to be met?
And at the same time, the fond mother, lying upon her couch, had her shadows to darken the happy thoughts that were brightening her life.
Was it just to Sage Portlock to let her become the wife of such a son as hers?
She trembled and grew agitated at the thoughts, which were cleared away as Cyril suddenly entered the room.