tones.

"This too! this too!" she hissed, as if frantic; and as the guards forced
her out of the procession she followed it farther and farther through the
heat and dust, as though attracted by some magnetic power.

Her feet moved involuntarily while her gaze rested on the litter, and she
caught a glimpse sometimes of a golden curl, sometimes of a little hand,
sometimes of the whole marvellously beautiful fair head.

Not until the train stopped and the lords, ladies, and gentlemen who were
escorting Philip turned their horses and left him did she recollect
herself. To follow these horsemen, coaches, carts, litters, and
pedestrians just as she was would have been madness. Her place was at
home with her husband and children. Ten times she repeated this to
herself and prepared to turn back; but the force which drew her to her
child was stronger than the warning voice of reason.

At any rate, she must speak to Massi and learn where he was taking the
boy. He had not yet seen her; but now, as the train stopped, she forced
her way to him.

Amazed at meeting her, he returned her greeting, and granted her request
to let her speak with him a few minutes,

Greatly perplexed, he swung himself from the saddle, flung his bridle to
a groom, and followed her under a mountain-ash tree which stood by the
roadside. Barbara had used the time of his dismounting to gaze at her
child again, and to impress his image upon her soul. She dared not call
to him, for she had sworn to keep the secret, and the boy, who so often
repulsed her eager advances, would perhaps have turned from her if she
had gone close to him and attempted to kiss him through the window.

This reserve was so hard for her that her eyes were full of tears when
Massi approached to ask what she desired. She did not give him time for
even a single question, but with frantic haste inquired who the boy in
the litter was, and where he intended to take him.

But her friend, usually so obliging, curtly and positively refused to
give her any information. Then forming a hasty resolve, Barbara besought
him if it were possible to take her with him to his home. Life in her own
house had become unendurable. If a nurse was wanted for this child, no
matter to whom it might belong, let him give her the place. She would
devote herself to the boy day and night, more faithfully than any mother,
and ask no wages for it, only she would and must go to Spain.

Massi had listened to her rapi