I looked at him again, and saw that his face was honest and his eyes kind.
"May I give your mother these little pleasures?" he continued; "she interests me profoundly. Some day I will tell you why I have a special reason for being interested in your mother. I cannot tell you at present, but I do not want you to misunderstand me. May I make up to her in a little measure for much that she has lost, may I?"
"You may," I answered; "you are kind, I am greatly obliged to you. I will own that I was cross for a moment—you hurt my pride; but you may do what you like in future, my pride shall not rise in a hurry again." I held out my hand, he took it and wrung it. I ran upstairs, mother was sitting before her fire. She looked sweet, and her eyes were bright, and there was a new strength in her voice.
"We have had a delightful evening," she said. "I hope you are not tired, my darling."
"I am quite fresh," I answered. "I am so pleased you enjoyed it."
"I did, dearest; did you?"
"Yes, and no," I answered; "but if you are happy I am."
"Sit down by me, Westenra. Let us talk a little of what has just happened."
I humoured her, of course. Mr. Randolph's words had rather alarmed me. Did he see more ill-health about mother than I had noticed? was he seriously anxious about her? But now as she sat there she seemed well, very well, not at all tired, quite cheerful, and like her own self. She took my hand.
Jane—dear, active, industrious Jane—had gone early to bed, but a little supper had been left ready for mother. She tasted some of the jelly, then laid the spoon down by her plate.