A spasm shook him; he hid his face in his hands a moment, then scoured out the tears with his withered fingers.
"Ask the young lady's pardon for me," he muttered; "I have frightened her."
I walked over to Silver Heels, who stood beside Lady Shelton, amazed at the scenes which had passed so swiftly before her eyes, and I drew her aside, mechanically asking pardon from the petrified dowager.
"He is a little mad," I said; "he thought he saw in you the ghost of his lost wife. Sorrow has touched his brain, I think, but he is very gentle and means no harm. Speak to him, Silver Heels. I owe my life to those two men."
She stood looking at them a moment, then, laying her hand on my arm, she went slowly across to Mount and Renard.
They uncovered as she came up; the Weasel's face grew dead and fixed, but the pathos in his eyes was indescribable.
"If you are Mr. Cardigan's friends, you must be mine, too," said Silver Heels, sweetly. "All you have done for him, you have done for me."
Fascinated, Mount gaped at her, tongue-tied, clutching his coon-skin cap to his breast. But the fibre of the two men showed the difference of their grain in a startling form, for, into Renard's shrunken frame came something that straightened him and changed him; he lifted his head with a peculiar dignity almost venerable, and, stepping forward, took Silver Heels's small hand in his with a delicate grace that any man might envy. Then he bent and touched her fingers with his lips.
"An old man's devotion, my child," he said. "You have your mother's eyes."
"My—my mother's eyes?" faltered Silver Heels, glancing fearfully at me.