That was my vanity--not to have a
little foot. I leave these things to you both. I hope each of you
may have a daughter to wear the dress and the veil." For the first
time she dashed some tears from her eyes. "I look to my sons for
sons and daughters."
It was near sunset when they stood again at the foot of the
staircase. She was white and tired, but her spirit refused to be
conquered.
"I think I shall He down now," she said, "so I shall say good night
to you here, Rowan. Fix the tray for me yourself, pour me out some
tea, and butter me a roll." They stood looking into each other's
eyes. She saw things in his which caused her suddenly to draw his
forehead over and press her lips to one and then to the other,
again and again.
The sun streamed through the windows, level and red, lighting up
the darkened hall, lighting up the head and shoulders of his mother.
An hour later he sat at the head of his table alone--a table
arranged for two instead of three. At the back of his chair waited
the aged servitor of the household, gray-haired, discreet, knowing
many things about earlier days on which rested the seal of
incorruptible silence. A younger servant performed the duties.
He sat at the head of his table and excused the absence of his
mother and forced himself with the pride and dignity of his race to
give no sign of what had passed that day. His mother's maid
entered, bringing him in a crystal vase a dark red flower for his
coat.
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