He put his hand on her drooping head, and drawing it down, she silently pressed it in her own. So they sat; how long, neither knew. She dreaming of that golden future that had opened so unexpectedly before her; he listening to memory’s echoes of a beloved tone long since hushed in the grave.
When approaching voices were heard, he rose to steal away and tears moistened his mild brown eyes.
“Stay with me, please,” she whispered, clinging to his sleeve.
Through the arched doorway of the arbour, she saw two walking slowly.
Mrs. Laurance leaned upon Mr. Palma’s arm, and as he bent his uncovered, head, in earnest conversation, his noble brow was placid and his haughty mouth relaxed in a half-smile. They reached the arbour, and paused.
In her morning robe of delicate lilac tint, Mrs. Laurance’s sad tear-stained face seemed in its glory of golden locks, almost as fair as her child’s. But one was just preparing to launch her frail argosy of loving hopes upon the sunny sea that stretched in liquid splendour before her dazzled eyes; the other had seen the wreck of all her heart’s most precious freight, in the storm of varied griefs, that none but Christ could hush with His divine “Be still.”
The repressed sorrow in the countenance of the mother was more touching than any outbreak could have been, and after a strong effort, she held out her hand, and said:
“My daughter.”
Regina sprang up, and hid her face on her mother’s neck.
“When I began to hope in a blind dumb way that nothing more could happen to wring my heart, because I had my daughter safe, owned her entire undivided love, and we were all in all to each other; just when I dared to pray that my sky might be blue for a little while, because my baby’s eyes mirrored it, even then the last, the dearest is stolen away, and by my best friend too! Child of my love, I would almost as soon see you in your shroud as under a bridal veil, for you will love your husband best, and oh! I want all of your dear heart for my own. How can I ever give you away, my one star-eyed angel of comfort!”
Her white hand caressed the head upon her bosom, and clasping her mother’s waist, the girl said distinctly:
“Let it be as you wish. My mother’s happiness is far dearer to me than my own.”
“Oh, my darling! Do you mean it? Would you give up your lover, for the sake of your poor desolate mother?”
She bent back the fair face and gazed eagerly into the girl’s eyes.
“Mother, I should never cease to love him. Life would not be so sweet as it looked this morning, when I first learned he had given me his heart; but duty is better than joy, and I owe more to my suffering mother than to him, or to myself. If it adds to the cup of your many sorrows to give me even to him, I will try to take the bitter for my portion, and then sweeten as best I may the life that hitherto you have devoted to me. Mother, do with your child as seems best to your dear heart.”