small and much-faded photograph
of his father, which Aunt Charlotte kept locked up in a drawer, but
of his mother there was no likeness at all, and he had no idea
whatever of her appearance. But now he began to feel more interest in
them, and a sense of longing, not unmixed with curiosity, took
possession of him. What sort of a woman, he wondered, could that
unknown mother have been? Well, physically he was himself like her--so
Lady Merthyr Tydvil had said; and so much like her that it was through
that very resemblance that all these interesting discoveries had been
made. Then his thoughts reverted to what Aunt Charlotte had told him
about his mother's dying words, and how bitterly she had grieved at
not living to bring him up herself. And yet she was still
alive--somewhere--though in a world removed. Of course he couldn't
remember her, having never seen her, _but she had not forgotten
him_--of that he felt convinced. That was a curious reflection. His
mother was alive, and mindful of him. He could not prove it,
naturally, but he knew it all the same. He realised it as though by
instinct. And who could tell how near she might be to him? Distance,
after all, is not necessarily a matter of miles. One may be only a few
inches from another person, and yet if those inches are occupied by an
impenetrable wall of solid steel, the two will be as much separated
as though an ocean rolled between them. On the other hand, Austin had
read of cases in which two friends were actually on the opposite sides
of an ocean, and yet, through some mysterious channel, were sometimes
conscious, in a sub-conscious way, of each other's thoughts and
circumstances. Perhaps his mother could even see him, although he
could not see her. It was all a very fascinating puzzle, but there was
some truth underlying it somewhere, if he could only find it out.

Chapter the Tenth

Austin returned in plenty of time to spend a few minutes loitering in
the garden after he had dressed for dinner. It was a favourite habit
of his, and he said it gave him an appetite; but the truth was that he
always loved to be in the open air to the very last moment of the day,
watching the colours of the sky as they changed and melted into
twilight. On this particular evening the heavens were streaked with
primrose, and pale iris, and delicate limpid green; and so absorbed
was he in gazing at this splendour of dissolving beauty that he forgot
all about his appetite, and