ly.

The baroness sat straight and motionless, staring fixedly at Frau von
Treumann.

"'When shall I see you again, my dearest mamma?' were his last words.
And I could give him no hope--no answer." The handkerchief went up to
her eyes.

"What _is_ she gassing about?" wondered Letty.

"I can see him now, fading away on the platform as my train bore me off
to an unknown life. An only son--the only son of a widow--is everything,
everything to his mother."

"He must be," said Anna.

There was another silence. Then Frau von Treumann wiped her eyes and
took up the letter again. "Now he writes that though I have only been
away two days from Rislar, the town he is stationed at, it seems already
like years. Poor boy! He is quite desperate--listen to this--poor
boy----" And she smiled a little, and read aloud, "'I must see you,
_liebste, beste Mama_, from time to time. I had no idea the separation
would be like this, or I could never have let you go. Pray beg Miss
Estcourt----'"

"Aha," thought the baroness.

"'--to allow me to visit my mother occasionally. There must be an inn in
the village. If not, I could stay at Stralsund, and would in no way
intrude on her. But I must see my dearest mother, the being I have
watched over and cared for ever since my father's death.' Poor, dear,
foolish boy--he is desperate----" And she folded up the letter, shook
her head, smiled, and suddenly buried her face in her handkerchief.

"Excellent Treumann," thought the unblinking baroness.

Anna sat in some perplexity. Sons had not entered into her calculations.
In the correspondence, she remembered, the son had been lightly passed
over as an officer living on his pay and without a superfluous penny for
the support of his parent. Not a word had been said of any unusual
affection existing between them. Now it appeared that the mother and son
were all in all to each other. If so, of course the separation was
dreadful. A mother's love was a sentiment that inspired Anna with
profound respect. Before its unknown depths and heights she stood in awe
and silence. How could she, a spinster, even faintly comprehend that
sacred feeling? It was a mysterious and beautiful emotion that she could
only reverence from afar. Clearly she must not come between parent and
child; but yet--yet she wished she had had more time to think it over.

She looked rather helplessly at Frau von Treumann, and gave her hand a
little squeeze. The hand did not return th