“Thank heaven, Madame Ziska is come, and they will now be quiet.”
But, looking out of the window, he saw it was not Madame Ziska who was descending from the carriage, but a lady in black, whose slightness and youthfulness of figure made it seem impossible that she should be the mother of a son as old as Gavin Hamilton.
St. Arnaud returned to his work, until he heard steps ascending the stairs, and Freda’s childish voice saying:
“The gentlemen are out, but I can show you to Lieutenant Gavin’s room—that is what we call him.”
The door opened and Lady Hamilton entered.
The youthfulness of her figure was not fulfilled in her face. Sorrow and want had done their work there; they had clouded, though not destroyed her delicate beauty. Her dark eyes were Gavin’s eyes, but her hair, once a deep brown, was plentifully streaked with gray. Her complexion, extremely fair, had not the red glow of youth, and her fine, straight features were thin and marked. But however much she had the signs of having suffered, she was now palpitating with joy, and her pallor was that of overpowering emotion. Her eyes rested upon St. Arnaud, then quickly searched the room.
“He is not here—my son—” she said, trembling as she spoke.
“No, madam,” replied St. Arnaud, rising, “but he will be here very shortly.”
Lady Hamilton advanced to the middle of the room, and placing her hand on St. Arnaud’s arm, said:
“I know well who you are—my son’s friend and best benefactor. I am almost glad that Gavin is not here, for I did not know how much it would agitate me to meet him.”