to
do in Europe, she reasoned? George was gone. Her one actual hold on
the world had slipped from her. That great mysterious thing called
living was done and past for her.

And yet--there was Kenilworth, and Scott's house? Scott, who had been
her friend and leader since she was eight years old! And in that
anthem at York minster there was a message, which she had been waiting
all of her life to hear! And here was Lucy beside her with her soft
voice, and loving blue eyes--Lucy, who should have been George's wife!
In all of these things something high and good called to the poor lady,
which she heard and understood as a child would the voice of its mother.

One hour she resolved to leave her son with his wife, to go back to
Weir at once and work with the poultry and Quigg's jokes for the rest
of her life. She was dead. Let her give up and consent to be dead.

The next, she would stay where she could see George sometimes, and try
to forgive the woman who had him in her keeping. Perhaps, after all,
she was human, as Clara said. If she could forgive Lisa, she could be
happy with these young people and live--live in this wonderful old
world, where all that was best of past ages was kept waiting for her.

When they came to London, she went at once to Morgan's to make a
deposit, for she had been hard at work on her jokes as she travelled,
and had received her pay.

"Your son, madam," said the clerk, "drew on his account to-day. He
said he expected remittances from you. Is this to be put to his
credit?"

"My son was in London to-day?

"He has just left the house."

"Did he--he left a message for me? A letter, perhaps?"

"No, nothing, madam."

"Put the money to his credit, of course." She went out into the narrow
street and wandered along to the Bank of England, staring up at the
huge buildings.

He had been looking at them--he had walked on this very pavement a
minute ago! That might be the smoke of his cigar, yonder!

She could easily find him. Just to look at him once; to hold his hand!
He might be ill and need her; he never was well in foggy weather.

Then she remembered that Lisa was with him. She would nurse him.

She called a cab, and, as she drove home, looked out at the crowd with
a hard, smiling face.

Henry Irving that night played "Shylock," and Mr. Perry secured a box
for Miss Vance. Frances went with the others. Before the curtain rose
there was a startled movement among them, a