"Now, do not hide one thing from me—not one," he said sternly, and she continued, with a conscientious fear of disobedience, to open her heart.
"I saw by the look in the old man's eyes that I had not done the right thing, coming in that way with a baby in my arms, like a beggar. I saw he was very curious, and I was that proud I didn't know what to tell him I had come for, when I found you were not there, so when he said artists often came to see the gallery, I said I had come to see the gallery; and David, I didn't even know what a gallery was. I thought it was a high piazza around a house, and I found it was a great room full of pictures. I was that ignorant.
"I felt like I was some wild creature that had got lost in that splendid palace and didn't know where to run to get away; and they all fixed their eyes on me as if they were saying: 'How does she dare come here? She isn't one of us!' and one was a boy who looked like you. The old man kept saying how like it was to the new Lord Thryng, and it made me cold to hear it,—so cold that after I had escaped from there and was out in the sun, my teeth chattered."
David sat silent and humbled; at last he said: "Go on, Cassandra. Don't cover up anything."
"When I got back to the hotel, everything seemed so splendid and stuffy and horrid—and every way I turned it seemed as if those dead ancestors of yours were there staring at me still; and I thought what right had they over the living that they dared stand between you and me; and I was angry." She stirred in his arms, and pressed closer to him. "David—forgive me—I can't tell it over—it hurts me."
"Go on," he said hoarsely.
"The old man told me what was expected of you because of them—how your mother wished you to marry a great lady—and I knew they could never have heard of me—and I forgot to eat my dinner and stayed in my room and fought and fought with myself—I'm sorry I felt that way, David. Don't mind. I understand now." She put up her hand and touched his cheek, and he took it in his and kissed it. Then she laughed a sad little laugh.
"Remember that funny little old silver teapot. Mother brought it to me before I left, and I took it with me! She is so proud of our family, although she has only that poor little pot to show for it, with its nose all melted off to make silver bullets sure to kill. Did you know it was one of those bullets Frale tried to kill you with? Oh, David, David!"
"And yet your mother is right, dear. That little wrecked bit of silver helps to interpret you—indicates your ancestors—how you come to be you—just as you are. How could I ever have loved you, if you had been different from what you are?"