"My father knew the Mother?" It was not a question, it was a statement of the fact. Saxham wondered at the assured tone, as he told her:
"It is true. They had been friends—in the world they both gave up afterwards—the man for the love that is of earth, the woman for the love of Heaven."
"She never told me then, but she must have known who I was from the beginning," Lynette ventured. "She gave me the surname of Mildare because it belonged to me! Do not you think so too?"
Saxham made no answer. He swung about to leave the room. She slipped the miniature into her bosom, where his letter had lain, and asked:
"Where are you going?"
He answered, with his eyes avoiding hers:
"You have been travelling all night; you must be tired and hungry. Go to bed and try to rest, while I forage for you downstairs. You shall not suffer for lack of attendance. I am quite a good cook, as you shall find presently. When you have eaten you must sleep, and then we will talk of your returning home to your friends."
"Are not you my chief friend?" she asked. "Is not this my home?"
He avoided her look, replying awkwardly:
"Hardly, when there are no servants to wait upon you!"