"I had two sons, it would seem," said my mother thoughtfully.
"Two?" I reiterated, fearing that her mind wandered.
"It seemed so to me, one, a dear little boy, whom I loved in childhood, and who loved me well; and another, who deserted me in manhood, for he who did so seemed so different from the curly-haired, waxen-skinned and bright-eyed little Oliver who slept in my bosom in infancy."
These words wrung my soul, and even Haystone seemed to think we were going quite far enough; but the old lady resumed.
"It has been a fearful—a terrible feeling this to me. He was the star of my life; the hope of my existence; the sharer of my humble crust; the joy and altar whereon were garnered up the hope and soul of a poor old widowed mother—but he left me! If yet he lives, may God forgive him—yea, as I do! ..... My dove went forth upon the waters; but, alas! he returned to me no more. The sunshine has seemed darker since I lost him; but it may be that my sight is dimmer; for as Ossian says, 'the years of age are dark and unlovely.'"
I felt ready to sink, for while saying all this, she had been gradually pushing the lamp nearer us across the table, and gazing wistfully and nervously at my face, for since I had spoken, a mysterious chord had been stirred in her heart, and some fond memory of my features came vaguely and strangely over her.
The tears ran down my face as she drew nearer.
At last suspicion became conviction.
"Mother!" I exclaimed. We simultaneously uttered a cry and she sank into my arms, while Lotty, now a tall and handsome girl—handsome as Georgette herself—rushed in to join us, and Rowland Haystone, of whose presence we were long quite oblivious, certainly had the satisfaction of producing all the dramatic effect he desired.
On this tableau, can I do better than drop the curtain, when we were all so happy; and yet I have a word or two to add to the reader who has kindly followed me thus far by sea and land.