"No, thank you, I like to have him," she said; and she turned and walked by Valentine's side.
"Are you tired, Val? I did not mean you to walk home. I sent Augusta with Bob and the basket chaise. I thought you knew they were to meet you at the turnpike."
"I'm afraid I forgot," answered Valentine. "I met Mr. Carr, and we came to a delicious field, full of primroses, and baby wanted to pick lots, didn't you, treasure? We sat and had a rest; I am not very tired, and Mr. Carr carried this big boy all the way home. Hey-ho," she continued, throwing off her hat, and showing a head as full of clustering richly-colored hair as of old, "what a lovely day it is, it makes me feel young. Come along, baby, we'll race together to the house. It's time for you to go to sleep, little master. Now, then—baby first, mother after—one, two, three and away!"
The child shouted with glee, the mother raced after him, they disappeared through the rose-covered porch of the old rectory. Lilias raised two eyes full of pain to Carr's.
"Is she beginning to forget?" she asked.
"No; why should you say so? She will never forget."
"She looked so young just now—so like a child. Poor Val! She was only twenty-two her last birthday. Mr. Carr. I don't want her to forget."
"In one sense rest assured she never will—in another—would you wish her to endure a life-long pain?"
"I would—I would. It was done for her—she must never forget."
"You always allow me to say plain words, don't you?" said Carr. "May I say some now?"