The birthnight supper was a very different affair from what had been planned. Although all tried to cheer Gavin, and make him hopeful of the best, all of them were oppressed with fear. Lady Hamilton’s life was in jeopardy every hour. Gavin slept not at all that night, and soon after sunrise was standing with a forlorn face under his mother’s window. He looked listlessly at the splendid façade, the marble steps, the tall, bronze lamps, all the evidences of wealth, and wondered stupidly at the good and evil in human nature, which made all desert Sir Gavin in his hour of direst need except the one human being he had most injured.
Not until nine o’clock did Lady Hamilton appear at the window.
“He still lives,” she said.
It was in Gavin’s heart to say that he cared not whether Sir Gavin lived or died if but she escaped; but he dared not.
“Mother,” cried Gavin, “I have not slept since your letter came, and I have been here since sunrise.”
“My poor, poor Gavin! Would you break your mother’s heart by making yourself ill? Go home now, and do not come back until to-morrow at nine.”
“Mother, I shall go mad if I do not see you again this day. Let me come at sunset. I will come, and I will stand on this pavement until you speak to me, if it is until to-morrow morning.”
“Well, then, at sunset, dearest.”
Days of agonizing suspense followed for Gavin. He learned in that time to know that, fearful as bodily pain is, it is a bed of roses to mental anguish. All he had suffered with his wounds was nothing to what he endured in those December days when his mother remained in the infected house. Sir Gavin, after a week of the extremest danger, began to hold his own, and then to gain a little and a little. This change was plain in every tone of Lady Hamilton’s voice, and in every lineament of her pale, glorified face. It amazed and confounded Gavin, but it waked no jealousy in his heart. His nature was too large, too free, too liberal, to let a shade come between his mother and himself. He knew that she had once loved his father well; and when he came to examine his memory he could not recall a single expression of resentment she had ever used against Sir Gavin. True, she had approved Gavin on each of the two occasions when he had resented his father’s treatment of her, but Gavin felt that in strict justice she must have approved him, and it would have been a fatal mistake for him to have acted otherwise. But though convinced of Sir Gavin’s wickedness of conduct, she could not wholly withdraw the memory of her love, and at the first need of her it rose again, full of life and vitality.
It was eight weeks before Sir Gavin was entirely well and it was safe to enter the house. But on a bright and spring-like February day Gavin was to be allowed to see his mother. Lady Hamilton had especially asked that St. Arnaud and Madame Ziska come with him. She knew her own power over Gavin, but she was not quite sure of his resistance, and knowing well that both of these noble souls would be on her side, she thought it well to have them at hand.