“Oh, son,” she said, with trembling lips, “you are all Engleesh—all your father. And it is right. Do not speak of remaining here with us. A mother’s eyes can see deep beyond the shallows into her child’s soul. I know your restless heart cries for the other world. It is there, indeed, you belong. And you must return to this England and the college.”
“But I shall not remain,” he said, throwing his arm about her shoulder. “No; I shall come back when I am through college, for you and Hyacinth.”
Aoi did not speak. Her poor little hands trembled against his arms.
Fluttering to the door came Hyacinth. The tear-stains were gone from her face. In her hand she carried the small English mirror. Evidently she had overcome her repugnance and fear of it, and now regarded it as some strange and active possession.
Aoi looked up at her son with questioning eyes.
“The little one’s new education must commence at once,” he said, slowly.
He went to the child and took the mirror from her hand and again held it before her face.
“This is the beginning,” he said. “Let her become acquainted with herself as she is. This will force a new trend of thought.”
Then to the child:
“Who is this within?” he asked.