"And what are your plans for the future?" asked the old man in his most solicitous voice. "If I, or any of us, can be of the least service to you, I hope you will command us."
She thanked him sadly, and said that all which any one could do for her he had already done. She had gone to France for a short time to calm herself after the late excitement, but she could not content herself abroad.
"My life, Mr. Paulton, up to this, has been tempest-tossed, although little may have been seen of the disturbance. I am weary of strife, and yearn for quiet. Kilcash is not a very lively place, but it seems to me that I have within the past couple of months had enough of excitement to satisfy me for the rest of my time."
He smiled, and shook his head in gallant expostulation.
"No doubt," he said, "a little rest in your old home will be grateful and beneficial to you; but we must see you again. We have not so many friends that we can afford to lose you."
"I am a very new friend," she said sadly.
Alfred would have given ten years of his life to tell her she was dearer to them than all the other friends they had in the world. His father said:
"The depth of friendship is not to be measured by years only, or, indeed, chiefly. Some people have the faculty of making better friends in an hour than others can in a lifetime. We were brought together under most peculiar and distressing circumstances, and you have won all our love." He took her hand with paternal cordiality. "If we are so unfortunate as not to find a little place in your heart, it must be owing to some defect on our part--owing to the want in us of some faculty which could enlist your regard. It is not, I am sure, my dear madam, from any lack of desire to win your confidence and good will."
All this rather long and old-fashioned speech was said with a sweet, benevolent chivalry which would have silenced and abashed any one who felt disposed to regard it as too fine and elaborate for a drawing-room scene of our own day. "Bravo, sir!" cried Alfred. He was a good, affectionate son, and had always been on the best terms with his father; but he never felt absolutely proud of the old man before. He coloured with pleasure. This simple homage of the old man touched all--Mrs. Davenport herself--as something sacred. The tears stood in his wife's eyes. What a privilege it was to own the love and share the confidences of such a gentle and generous heart! "I am sure," said Mrs. Paulton, scarcely able to keep her tears back, "that you will always think of us as of old friends. I know you will make up out of your own goodness whatever you may find wanting in us."
Mrs. Paulton took the widow's other hand in both hers.