“But there never was any wrong, Doctor,” said a low, sweet voice, when, turning, Dr Challen became aware that Mrs Norton had entered unperceived.
Mother and Son.
“Mother,” said Brace Norton the next morning, as, none the worse for his immersion, he stood by her side, she holding his hand the while and gazing up into his face,—“mother, I went out yesterday with the full intention of dreaming no more of my foolish love; and what was the result? Strange, too,” he said, with affected gaiety; “one would have thought that an hour’s immersion would have quenched it. But there, you will, perhaps, laugh at me, and think me childish and full of folly; still, I cannot help it—I love her more dearly than ever, and feel no shame in owning it to you. How am I to give her up now, after holding her to my breast as I did for a whole hour yesterday, her arms clasped the while round my neck, and her poor head resting upon my shoulder? Mother, it was a mingling of misery, despair, and bliss; and when, at last, I had given up all hope of being saved—when I had struggled till I could struggle no more—when I had called till my voice failed in my throat—when I felt that my—our last hour was at hand, I broke faith even with myself.”
Brace paused for a few moments, for his voice was husky, but recovering himself, he went on:
“I dare say it was wrong; but I was under the impression that all was over. I could have saved my own life, perhaps; but I could not leave her to perish. The sun had sunk, and darkness was fast coming on; the evening breeze was sighing what seemed to my excited fancy a dirge amidst the rustling reeds; and again and again some curlew flew over us giving utterance to a loud wail. At one time it seemed so hard to die just in the spring of life; but the next instant, as I looked down at the poor head resting upon my breast, the sorrow was all for her, and with that sorrow there was a strange—an awful pleasure. It was, I should think, about ten minutes before help came that she raised her head, and her sweet beseeching eyes looked full in mine.
“‘Is there no hope?’ she whispered; and I feared to tell her the cruel truth.
“‘But you could save yourself,’ she faltered; ‘you struggled too hard before; why should you perish in trying to save me?’
“She spoke so earnestly, and with such a sweet resignation, that the tears came gushing from my eyes—weak, womanly tears, mother; for I am weak, very weak, I know, or I should not tell you all this.”
“Is it weak to confide all things to her who gave you birth, Brace?” whispered Mrs Norton.