She smiled faintly. "I never do want you—do I, Ernest?" she asked half sadly. "I never want my boy at all." Her voice quivered,—and Ernest grew more and more astonished.
"If you do, I'll stay," he said stoutly, filled with a chivalrous desire to console his so suddenly tender mother of his, whatever her griefs might be. Her eyes filled again, but she tried to laugh.
"No dear—not now,—run along and enjoy yourself. Come to me when you return. I shall be at home all day. And,—stop Ernest—won't you kiss me?"
The boy opened his eyes wide in respectful wonderment, and his cheeks flushed with surprise and pleasure.
"Why, mother—of course!" And his fresh, sweet lips closed on hers with frank and unaffected heartiness. She held him fast for a moment and looked at him earnestly.
"Tell your father you kissed me—will you?" she said. "Don't forget!"
And with that she waved her hand to him, and retreated again into her own apartment. The boy went on his way somewhat puzzled and bewildered—did his mother love him, after all? If so, he thought—how glad he was!—how very glad! and what a pity he had not known it before!
[!-- H2 anchor --] CHAPTER XXIX.
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"I heed not custom, creed, nor law; I care for nothing that ever I saw— I terribly laugh with an oath and sneer, When I think that the hour of Death draws near!" |