When he met his mother at breakfast, the recollection of Mrs. Hilyard and the charge she had committed to him, came to his mind again. No doubt Susan would take the wanderers in—no doubt they were as safe in the cottage as it was possible to be in a humble inviolable English home, surrounded by all the strength of neighbours and friends, and the protection of a spotless life which everybody knew; but yet—— That was not what his strange acquaintance had expected or bargained for. He felt as if he had broken faith with her when he realised his mother’s absence from her own house. Yet somehow he felt a certain hesitation in broaching the subject, and unconsciously prepared himself for doubts and reluctance. The certainty of this gave a forced character to the assumed easiness with which he spoke.
“You will go to see Mrs. Hilyard,” he said; “I owe it to her to explain that you were absent before her child went there. They will be safe enough at home, no doubt, with Susan; but still, you know, it would have been different had you been there.”
“Yes, Arthur,” said Mrs. Vincent, with an indescribable dryness in her voice.
“You will find her a very interesting woman,” said her son, instinctively contending against that unexpressed doubt—“the strangest contrast to her surroundings. The very sound of her voice carries one a thousand miles from Salem. Had I seen her in a palace, I doubt whether I should have been equally impressed by her. You will be interested in spite of yourself.”
“It is, as you say, very strange, Arthur,” said Mrs. Vincent—the dryness in her voice increasing to the extent of a short cough; “when does your train start?”
“Not till eleven,” said Vincent, looking at his watch; but you must please me, and go to see her, mother.”
“That reminds me, dear,” said Mrs. Vincent, hurriedly, “that now I am here, little as it suits my feelings, you must take me to see some of your people, Arthur. Mrs. Tufton, and perhaps the Tozers, you know. They might not like to hear that your mother had been in Carlingford, and had not gone to see them. It will be hard work visiting strangers while I am in this dreadful anxiety, but I must not be the means of bringing you into any trouble with your flock.”
“Oh, never mind my flock,” said Vincent, with some impatience; “put on your bonnet, and come and see her, mother.”
“Arthur, you are going by the first train,” said his mother.
“There is abundant time, and it is not too early for her,” persisted the minister.