e bashfully in his mother's
neck and patted her cheek, glancing sidewise at his admirers through
brimming tears, while Cassandra, her eyes large and pathetic, turned now
on Laura, now on her mother, stood silent, quivering like one of her own
mountain creatures brought to bay. But she was strengthened as she felt
her baby again in her arms, and as she stood thus looking about her,
every one became silent, and she was constrained to speak. She did not
know that something in her manner and appearance had commanded
silence--something tragic--despairing. It was but for an instant, then
she turned to Lady Laura.

[Illustration: _Cassandra stood silent, quivering like one of her own
mountain creatures brought to bay. Page 286._]

"Thank you for comforting him. I ought not to have left him. I nevah did
before, with strangahs." She tried to bid Lady Thryng good-by, but Laura
again besought her to stop and have tea.

"Please do. I fairly adore Americans. I want to talk to you; I mean, to
hear you talk."

Cassandra had mastered herself at last, and replied quietly: "I don't
guess I can stay, thank you. You have been so kind." Then she said to
Lady Thryng, "Good-by," and moved away. Laura walked by her side to the
carriage.

"I hope you'll come again sometime, and let me know you."

"You are right kind to say that. I shall nevah forget." Then, leaning
down from the carriage seat, and looking steadily in Laura's warm, dark
eyes, she added: "No, I shall nevah forget. May I kiss you?"

"You sweet thing!" said the girl, impulsively, and, reaching up, they
kissed. Cassandra said in her heart, "For David," and was driven away.

Laura found her mother standing where they had left her. She had been
deeply stirred by the sight of Cassandra with the child in her arms. Not
that beautiful mothers and lovely children were rare in England; but
that, except for the children of the poor, no little one like this had
been in her own home or so near her in all the years of her widowhood.
It was the sight of that strong mother love, overpowering and sweeping
all before it, recognizing no lesser call--the secret and holy power
that lies in the Christ-mother, for all periods and all peoples--she
herself had felt it--and the cry that had burst from Cassandra's lips,
"My baby--he is mine." Tears stood in Lady Thryng's eyes, and yet it was
such a simple little thing. Mothers and babies? Why, they were
everywhere.

"She moved like a tragic queen