When Herbert Fitzgerald got back to Castle Richmond
it was nearly dark. He opened the hall door without
ringing the bell, and walking at once into the dining
room, threw himself into a large leathern chair which
always stood near the fire-place. There was a
bright fire burning on the hearth, and he drew himself
close to it, putting his wet feet up on to the fender,
thinking that he would at any rate warm himself before
he went in among any of the family. The room,
with its deep-red curtains and ruby-embossed paper,
was almost dark, and he knew that he might remain
there unseen and unnoticed for the next half-hour.
If he could only get a glass of wine! He tried
the cellaret, which was as often open as locked, but
now unfortunately it was closed. In such a case
it was impossible to say whether the butler had the
key or Aunt Letty; so he sat himself down without
that luxury.
By this time, as he well knew, all would have been
told to his mother, and his first duty would be to
go to her—to go to her and comfort her,
if comfort might be possible, by telling her that he
could bear it all; that as far as he was concerned
title and wealth and a proud name were as nothing
to him in comparison with his mother’s love.
In whatever guise he may have appeared before Lady
Desmond, he would not go to his mother with a fainting
heart. She should not hear his teeth chatter,
nor see his limbs shake. So he sat himself down
there that he might become warm, and in five minutes
he was fast asleep.
How long he slept he did not know; not very long,
probably; but when he awoke it was quite dark.
He gazed at the fire for a moment, bethought himself
of where he was and why, shook himself to get rid
of his slumber, and then roused himself in his chair.
As he did so a soft sweet voice close to his shoulder
spoke to him. “Herbert,” it said,
“are you awake?” And he found that his
mother, seated by his side on a low stool, had been
watching him in his sleep.
“Herbert, my child, my son!” And the mother
and son were fast locked in each other’s arms.
He had sat down there thinking how he would go to
his mother and offer her solace in her sorrow; how
he would bid her be of good cheer, and encourage her
to bear the world as the world had now fallen to her
lot. He had pictured to himself that he would
find her sinking in despair, and had promised himself
that with his vows, his kisses, and his prayers, he
would bring her back to her self-confidence, and induce
her to acknowledge that God’s mercy was yet
good to her. But now, on awakening, he discovered
that she had been tending him in his misery, and watching
him while he slept, that she might comfort him with
her caresses the moment that he awoke to the remembrance
of his misfortunes.
“Herbert, Herbert, my son, my son!” she
said again, as she pressed him close in her arms.
