``Come,'' he said, ``I grant now that you could make pans shine like pier-glasses, that you could cook bacon to a turn--although I would have laid an hundred guineas against it some years ago.What then? Are you to be contented with four log walls? With the intellectual companionship of the McChesneys and their friends?
Are you to depend for excitement upon the chances of having the hair neatly cut from your head by red fiends?
Come, we'll go back to the Rue St.Dominique, to the suppers and the card parties of the countess.We'll be rid of regrets for a life upon which we have turned our backs forever.''
She shook her head, sadly.
``It's no use, Harry,'' said she, ``we'll never be rid of regrets.''
``We'll never have a barony like Temple Bow, and races every week, and gentry round about.But, damn it, the Rebels have spoiled all that since the war.''
``Those are not the regrets I mean,'' answered Mrs.
Temple.
``What then, in Heaven's name?'' he cried.``You were not wont to be thus.But now I vow you go beyond me.What then?''
She did not answer, but sat leaning forward over the hearth, he staring at her in angry perplexity.A sound broke the afternoon stillness,--the pattering of small, bare feet on the puncheons.A tremor shook the woman's shoulders, and little Tom stood before her, a quaint figure in a butternut smock, his blue eyes questioning.He laid a hand on her arm.
Then a strange thing happened.With a sudden impulse she turned and flung her arms about the boy and strained him to her, and kissed his brown hair.He struggled, but when she released him he sat very still on her knee, looking into her face.For he was a solemn child.The lady smiled at him, and there were two splashes like raindrops on her fair cheeks.
As for Mr.Riddle, he went to the door, looked out, and took a last pinch of snuff.
``Here is the mistress of the house coming back,'' he cried, ``and singing like the shepherdess in the opera.''
It was Polly Ann indeed.At the sound of his mother's voice, little Tom jumped down from the lady's lap and ran past Mr.Riddle at the door.Mrs.Temple's thoughts were gone across the mountains.
``And what is that you have under your arm?'' said Mr.
Riddle, as he gave back.
``I've fetched some prime bacon fer your supper, sir,''
said Polly Ann, all rosy from her walk; ``what I have ain't fit to give ye.''
Mrs.Temple rose.
``My dear,'' she said, ``what you have is too good for us.And if you do such a thing again, I shall be very angry.
``Lord, ma'am,'' exclaimed Polly Ann, ``and you use' ter dainties an' silver an' linen! Tom is gone to try to git a turkey for ye.'' She paused, and looked compassionately at the lady.``Bless ye, ma'am, ye're that tuckered from the mountains! 'Tis a fearsome journey.''
``Yes,'' said the lady, simply, ``I am tired.''
``Small wonder!'' exclaimed Polly Ann.``To think what ye've been through--yere husband near to dyin'
afore yere eyes, and ye a-reskin' yere own life to save him --so Tom tells me.When Tom goes out a-fightin' red-skins I'm that fidgety I can't set still.I wouldn't let him know what I feel fer the world.But well ye know the pain of it, who love yere husband like that.''
The lady would have smiled bravely, had the strength been given her.She tried.And then, with a shudder, she hid her face in her hands.
``Oh, don't!'' she exclaimed, ``don't!''
