Dion and Robin were
seeking; the afternoon hours passed on in a gray procession; the chimes
sounded many times, but she did not hear them. She had forgotten Welsley
in remembering how small a part Welsley must play in her mother-life, in
remembering how very small were the birds in the immense expanse of the
sky.

In Meditation she had entered into Vastness.

The sound of the organ in the Cathedral recalled her. It was four
o'clock. The afternoon service was just beginning. She sat still and
listened. It was growing dark now, but she had no wish to move. Probably
in half an hour Robin and Dion would come back from the shooting. From
to-day she would think of Robin in a different way. He would be even
dearer to her, even more sacred, her little teacher. What did it matter
where she lived if her little teacher was with her. The sting had
gone out of her unselfishness; she was glad she had been able to be
unselfish, to put Dion before herself.

The organ ceased. They were praying now in the Cathedral. Presently she
heard them singing the psalms faintly. The voices of the boys came to
her with a sort of vague sweetness through the gathering darkness and
the mist. They died away; the Magnificat followed, then silence, then
the Nunc Dimittis, then another silence, presently the anthem. Finally
she heard the organ alone in a Fugue of Bach.

The quarter to five chimed in the tower. Dion and Robin were a little
late.

She got up, and carried the rug into the house.

"Annie!" she called.

Annie came.

"When Mr. Leith and Robin come back,--they'll be here directly,--will
you ask them to give me a call? I shall be in the garden."

"Very well, ma'am."

Again Rosamund paced up and down the paths. Now she was very conscious
of herself and of her surroundings. The long night of early winter was
falling upon Welsley. Five o'clock struck, a quarter-past five, then the
half-hour. She stood still on the path, beginning to wonder. How late
they were! Robin would surely be very tired. It would be too much for
him. Directly he had had his tea he must be put to bed. Or perhaps it
would be best to put him to bed at once. He would be disappointed, but
they could easily have tea in the night nursery. She smiled, conjuring
up a picture of Robin under the bedclothes being fed pieces of cake. He
would enjoy that. And she would hold his cup for him while he drank, so
that the bed might be safe. Meals in bed are often dangerous to the bed