t. And
yet for weeks his mother had never seemed so well: the cloud had lifted
off her this morning, and, but for some vague presage of trouble that
somehow haunted his mind, refusing to be disentangled, he could have
believed that, after all, medical opinion might be at fault, and that,
instead of her passing more deeply into the shadows as he had been
warned was inevitable, she might at least maintain the level to which
she had returned to-day. All day she had been as she was before the
darkness and discontent of those last weeks had come upon her: he
who knew her now so well could certainly have affirmed that she had
recovered the serenity of a month ago. It was so much, so tremendously
much that she should do this, and if only she could remain as she had
been all day, she would at any rate be happy, happier, perhaps, than she
had consciously been in all the stifled years which had preceded this.
Nothing else at the moment seemed to matter except the preservation to
her of such content, and how eagerly would he have given all the service
that his young manhood had to offer, if by that he could keep her
from going further into the bewildering darkness that he had been told
awaited her.

There was some little trouble, though no more than the shadow of a
passing cloud, when at last he said that they must be getting back to
town, for the afternoon was beginning to wane. She besought him for five
minutes more of sitting here in the sunshine that was still warm, and
when those minutes were over, she begged for yet another postponement.
But then the quiet imposition of his will suddenly conquered her, and
she got up.

"My dear, you shall do what you like with me," she said, "for you have
given me such a happy day. Will you remember that, Michael? It has been
a nice day. And might we, do you think, ask Miss Falbe to come to tea
with us when we get back? She can but say 'no,' and if she comes, I will
be very good and not vex her."

As she got back into the motor she stood up for a moment, her vague blue
eyes scanning the sky, the trees, the stretch of sunlit park.

"Good-bye, lake, happy lake and moor-hens," she said. "Good-bye, trees
and grass that are growing green again. Good-bye, all pretty, peaceful
things."

Michael had no hesitation in telephoning to Sylvia when they got back to
town, asking her if she could come and have tea with his mother, for the
gentle, affectionate mood of the morning still lasted, and he