The bed-room of the deceased was a roomy apartment in a wing of the
building, and to this Mabel was summoned before she could seat
herself elsewhere.
"Miss Mary's compliments and love, ma'am; and she says won't you
please step in thar, and set with Mistis' friends and relations?"
was the audible message delivered to her by Mrs. Trent's spry
waiting-maid.
Herbert looked dubious, and Mrs. Aylett enlarged her fine eyes in a
manner that might mean either superciliousness or well-bred
amazement. But Mabel was neither surprised nor doubtful as to the
proper course for her to pursue. Time was when she was as much at
home here as Rosa herself, and Mrs. Tazewell's partiality for her
was shared by others of the family. That she had met none of them in
ten or twelve years, did not at a season like the present dampen
their affection. They would rather on this account seize upon the
opportunity of honoring publicly their mother's old favorite.
The chamber was less light than the hall she traversed to reach it.
She recognized Mary Trent, the daughter next in age to Rosa, who
fell upon her neck in a sobbing embrace, then the other sisters and
their brother, Morton Tazewell, with his wife, and was formally
presented to their children.
Finally she turned inquiringly toward a gentleman who stood against
the window opposite the door, with a little girl beside him.
Confused beyond measure, as the hitherto unthought-of consequences
of her impulsive action in sending for her friend rushed upon her
mind, Mrs. Trent faltered out: "I forgot! You must excuse me, but I was so anxious to see you. My
brother-in-law, Mr. Chilton. He arrived yesterday--not having heard
of mother's death."
And for the first time since they looked their passionate farewell
into each other's eyes under the rose-arch of the portico at
Ridgeley, on that rainy summer morning, the two who had been lovers
again touched hands.
"I hope you are quite well, Mr. Chilton," said Mabel's firm, gentle
voice. "Is this your daughter?" kissing the serious-faced child on
the forehead, and looking intently into her eyes in the hope of
discovering a resemblance to her mother.
Then she went back to a chair next to Mrs. Trent's, and began to
talk softly of the event that had called them together, not glancing
again at the window until the outer hall was stilled, that the
clergyman might begin the funeral prayer.
"The services will be concluded at the grave," was the announcement
that succeeded the sermon; and there followed the shuffling of the
bearers' feet, and their measured tramp across the floors and down
the steps of the back porch.