movement of her eyes, sat Mrs. Orme,—intent upon that one thing, that the woman before her should be brought to repent the evil she had done.
'And you have not spoken to Lucius?'
'No,' she answered. 'No more than I have told you. What could I say to him about the man?'
'Not about Mr. Aram. It might not be necessary to speak of him. He has his work to do; and I suppose that he must do it in his own way?'
'Yes; he must do it, in his own way. Lucius would not understand.'
'Unless you told him everything, of course he could not understand.'
'That is impossible.'
'No, Lady Mason, it is not impossible. Dear Lady Mason, do not turn from me in that way. It is for your sake,—because I love you, that I press you to do this. If he knew it all———'
'Could you tell your son such a tale?' said Lady Mason, turning upon her sharply, and speaking almost with an air of anger.
Mrs. Orme was for a moment silenced, for she could not at once bring herself to conceive it possible that she could be so circumstanced. But at last she answered. 'Yes,' she said, 'I think I could, if———.' And then she paused.
'If you had done such a deed! Ah, you do not know, for the doing of it would be impossible to you. You can never understand what was my childhood, and how my young years were passed. I never loved anything but him;—that is, till I knew you, and—and———.' But instead of finishing her sentence she pointed down towards The Cleeve. 'How, then, can I tell him? Mrs. Orme, I would let them pull me to pieces, bit by bit, if in that way I could save him.'
'Not in that way,' said Mrs. Orme; 'not in that way.'
But Lady Mason went on pouring forth the pent-up feelings of her bosom, not regarding the faint words of her companion. 'Till he lay in my arms I had loved nothing. From my earliest years I had been taught to love money, wealth, and property; but as to myself the teachings had never come home to me. When they bade me marry the old man because he was rich, I obeyed them,—not caring for his riches, but knowing that it behoved me to relieve them of the burden of my support. He was kinder to me than they had been, and I did for him the best I could. But his money and his wealth were little to me. He told me over and over again that when he died I should have the means to live, and that was enough. I would not pretend to him that I cared for the grandeur of his children who despised me. But then came my baby, and the world was all altered for me. What could I do for the only thing that I
