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"I think often of grandmotherhood myself," my mother replied. "It is a symptom of advancing age, James." I heard the talk, but Helen was far enough from guessing what plans her father was forming for his ultimate satisfaction, and I could fancy her superb disdain at such mention.
In it he sat, with a book on his lap, and with the aspect of entire content which was so very touching. Helen sat beside him on the grass, sewing she was always sewing; and, indeed, she had need, if her needle were to keep pace with its requirements in the large family of boys. "That's a good girl of yours, and his lordship seems to have taken to her amazingly.
At a certain point, the cold dew always appeared on his forehead, after which invariably came a smile, and he would be quiet until near morning, when the same signs again appeared. Sometimes he would murmur prayers, and sometimes it seemed to Helen that he must fancy himself talking face to face with Jesus, for the look of blessed and trustful awe upon his countenance was amazing in its beauty.
"To leave!" echoed Helen; she had never once thought of that. "Why, of course," said her aunt. "It would not be possible to enjoy ourselves under such very dreadful circumstances." "But, Aunt Polly, that is a shame!" cried the girl. "The idea of so many people being inconvenienced for such a cause. Can't he be moved?"
I can tell you this if I didn't need the money I'd never go inside that school again, or any other!" She was heated. "Dun ye mean to say," he asked, with an ineffable intonation, "that Susan and that there young farmer have gone gadding off to Canada and left you all alone with nothing?" "Of course they haven't," said Helen. "Why, mother is the most generous old thing you can possibly imagine.
At this moment Wardlaw senior returned, to tell Arthur he had been just too late to meet the Rollestons. "Oh, here he is!" said he; and there were fresh greetings. "Well, but," said Arthur, "where is Helen!" "I think it is I who ought to ask that question," said Rolleston, gravely. "I telegraphed you at Elmtrees, thinking of course she would come with you to meet me at the station.
"I appeal to you in the name of my as yet unwritten poems, my masterpieces for which France, for which the whole brotherhood of letters, so anxiously waits, to put a term to this appalling chastisement!" "Delicious!" said Helen, under her breath. "Your classicism is the natural complement of my mediævalism.
"It does not seem fair for a girl to show such interest in a brother," she said. "Now, if it were a lover it would be all right." "I have no lover, Mrs. Prescott," replied Helen, a slight tint of pink appearing in her cheeks. "It may be so," said the older woman, "but others are not like you."
When Helen entered the drawing-room before dinner, knowing that she was very late, she found assembled Lady Davenant, Beauclerc, and the officers, but Cecilia was not there, nor did the punctual general make his appearance; the dinner-hour was passed, a servant had twice looked in to announce it, and, seeing neither my lady nor the general, had in surprise retired.
He said good night and left her wondering bewilderedly what strange thing her dad would do next. In the morning she knew. Peter did not answer when Helen May rapped on his door and said that breakfast would be ready in five minutes. Never before had he failed to call out: "All right, Babe!" more or less cheerfully.
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