“Gone, but there was a shadow on my home. Cobweb said not a word, and expressed no surprise, never even referring to the picture, but went about the house slowly, drooping day after day, month after month, till the summer time came round again, and I knew that in my jealous selfishness I was breaking her young heart.
“She never complained, and was as loving as ever; but my little Cobweb was broken, and the tears spangled it like dew whenever it was alone.
“It was as nearly as could be a year after, that I, feeling ten years older, went to seek her one afternoon, and found her as I expected, in the little wood, standing dreamy and sad in her old position leaning upon the tree, listening to no bird-song now, but with a far-off longing look in her eyes, that swept away the last selfish thought from my heart.
“I did not let her see me, but went straight up to Smith’s, learned what I wanted, and a short time after I was in a handsome studio in Saint John’s Wood, staring at the finished picture of my child—painted, of course, from memory—framed, against the wall.
“As I stood there, I heard the door open, and turning stood face to face with Grantly.
“We looked in each other’s eyes for a few moments without speaking, and then in a trembling, broken voice, I said—
“‘Grantly, I’ve come as a beggar now. My poor darling—God forgive me!—I’ve broken her heart!’
“It was my turn to sit down, trembling and weak, while my dear boy tried to comfort me—telling me too with pride how he had worked and become famous, and in a few more months had meant to come down and ask my consent.
“But there, I’m mixing it up. Of course he told me that as we were rushing along, having just had time to catch the express; and on reaching the station there was no conveyance, and we had to walk.