She gave her arm to Lady Vale. “Come mamma, let us get out into the beautiful sunlight, among the fragrant blooming trees. I feel stifled here.”
They had been down by the lake over an hour. Lady Vale with her white hands idly resting in her lap, was watching two swans which were sailing majestically on the placid bosom of the water, while she listened to the sweet voice of Victoria, reading the closing lines of Virgil. Suddenly she looked toward the avenue, and placed her hand on Victoria’s arm. “Hush, daughter, I heard voices. Ah, I thought I was not mistaken. It is Mary leading her son. Is not that a touching sight? Who could look upon it without being affected. The mother, her hair whitened with years, bending her form under the weight of her stalwart youthful son upon whom she has centered all her hopes.”
Victoria raised her head, and her eyes filled with tears. Roger’s head was bent until his lips touched his mother’s hair. They were still too far away for her to distinguish what they were saying.
“How does the dear old place look, mother mine? Is it changed?”
“Not at all, dear Roger. The peacocks are strutting on the lawn. The swans are sailing on the lake, and, oh my darling, the fairest girl who ever lived is sitting on the stone seat which you fashioned with your own hands when but a lad. You ran away from her, but fate, or a kind Providence which ever you will, has decreed that you are to meet. You are not averse to it, my son?”
“Not now, mother. I can be nothing but an object of pity to her, and as for me, all interest in anything feminine has ceased forever.”
Victoria rose and advanced to meet them.
“Oh, if you could only see her now,” exclaimed Mary. “She is tall and most beautifully formed. Her complexion is like roses; her eyes like stars; but they are filled with tears, my son; and those tears are for you; and the expression on her sweet face is such, that if you could but see it, you would take her in your arms and kiss the tears away. It is not pity. It is love; maidenly love, which as yet does not know that it loves.”
Victoria was near enough now to hear Roger say: “Mother, you speak wildly. What do you mean?” and she wondered what Mary had been saying.
“Ah, Victoria, I missed you, and wondered where you had hidden. Roger, this is Lady Victoria Vale, of whom you have often heard me speak.”