“God keep and bless you, Grace; if I cannot have you in my home, none can keep me from carrying you in my heart,” and he was gone.
She watched him till he disappeared round the corner of the square, and noticed that he walked as one stricken with age. One of their windows commanded a corner of the square garden, where the trees were in their first summer greenery, and she could hear the birds singing. As she turned away, the sunlight lingered on the white roses which George Lennox had brought as the token of his love, and then departed, leaving the faded room in the shadow.
III
“This frame seems to have been made for our purpose, Grace,” and Mrs. Leconte arranged in order Gertrude with her two girls and Frances with her two boys. “It seems only a few months, instead of four years, since the wedding day.
“They have good husbands and happy homes. I only wish their father...” This was so unusual that Grace looked at her mother, and Mrs. Leconte checked herself. “You are going down to the Rectory, I hope, next week; Gertrude is always anxious to have you, and August in London is very trying.”
“Certainly; but on one condition, mother, that you go too; it would be such a joy to Gerty, and you must have some change.”
“Perhaps I will, a little later, but I never leave London in August. I have always been very strong, and I like a... quiet time then.”
“Mother,” and Mrs. Leconte turned at the passion in her daughter's voice, “why will you not allow any of us to share your remembrance and your grief? We know why you shut yourself up alone in August, and now, when there are just you and I, it hurts me that I may not be with you, if it were only to pray... or weep. Would it not be some help?” and Grace took her mother's hand, a very rare caress.
“You are a good daughter, Grace,” she spoke with much difficulty, “but... God made me to be alone, and silent I was not able to tell either joy or sorrow even to your father. You spoke of weeping; do you know I've never shed a tear since I was a child—not often then.
“When he died, my eyes were dry.... Oh, Grace, you are most like me: may God deliver you from a tearless grief; but it must be so with me to the end.”