ow; and in
their rejoicings they do not forget those who, alas! will never return
any more."

There was a pause; and Peter remained silent, embarrassed by the
canon's emotion, and not knowing very well how to reply.

"There, there," said the canon, saving him the trouble; "we can
discuss it later. You are thinking of your mother now."

As he spoke, they all heard Lady Mary's voice in the corridor above.
She was humming a song, and as she neared the open staircase the words
of her song came very distinctly to their ears--

_Entends tu ma pensee qui le respond tout bas_?
_Ton doux chant me rappelle les plus beaux de mes jours_.

"My mother's voice," said Peter, in bewildered accents; and he dropped
his eyeglass.

The canon showed a presence of mind that seldom distinguished him.

He hurried away the old ladies, protesting, into the drawing-room, and
closed the door behind him.

Peter scarcely noticed their absence.

_Ah! le rire fidele prouve un coeur sans detours,
Ah! riez, riez--ma belle--riez, riez toujours_,

sang Lady Mary.

"I never heard my mother sing before," said Peter.

CHAPTER XI

Lady Mary came down the oak staircase singing. The white draperies of
her summer gown trailed softly on the wide steps, and in her hands she
carried a quantity of roses. A black ribbon was bound about her waist,
and seemed only to emphasize the slenderness of her form. Her brown
hair was waved loosely above her brow; it was not much less abundant,
though much less bright, than in her girlhood. The freshness of youth
had gone for ever; but her loveliness had depended less upon that
radiant colouring which had once been hers than upon her clear-cut
features, and exquisitely shaped head and throat. Her blue eyes looked
forth from a face white and delicate as a shell cameo, beneath finely
pencilled brows; but they shone now with a new hopefulness--a timid
expectancy of happiness; they were no longer pensive and downcast as
Peter had known them best.

The future had been shrouded by a heavy mist of hopelessness
always--for Lady Mary. But the fog had lifted, and a fair landscape
lay before her. Not bright, alas! with the brightness and the promise
of the morning-time; but yet--there are sunny afternoons; and the
landscape was bright still, though long shadows from the past fell
across it.

Peter saw only that his mother, for some extraordinary reason, looked
many years younger than when he had left