And so, partly with banter, but with many moments that were tense with
feeling, we talked while the afternoon wore on. Norman was in the midst
of some anecdote of either Sindbad or Mr. Jones, when he paused, and a
look of delighted anticipation lit his countenance.
"That's the whistle," he said. "The train's right on time to-day." He
sighed happily, as a lover about to meet his sweetheart after a long
absence.
"Sindbad," he cried, "pipe all hands to tea. Tell Mrs. M'Gillicuddy
we'll have it in the music-room."
Telescope under his arm, the worthy buccaneer--for I am convinced he
sailed under Captain Kidd--shuffled into the house, and the noise of
the train could be distinctly heard as it emptied its crowd of one or
two at the little station.
"I shall go and open the gate," I said, but he stopped me.
"He is with her, Pest."
"Who?"
"Wait.... I have kept a surprise for you."
A minute later I saw his wife at the end of the path as she waved to
him. She came through the leafy garden with a grace of movement that
made the scene a delicate, colorful picture, and even before she had
reached us I could see that her beauty was as exquisite, as perfect, as
an orchid's. All sacrificed to an invalid....
With the tenderest of smiles in her eyes, which were blue as the sky,
she advanced towards us and kissed him; and I, who detest things
sentimental as I would the plague, thought it was the loveliest tribute
I had ever seen. Before he could speak, she turned and gave me both her
hands.
"I won't apologize," she said, and her voice was as sweet as a brook's,
"because I know you both enjoyed your talk of old times the better for
my absence."
"It was a wonderful afternoon," I said, "but it would have been doubly
so with you here."
And then I, the Pest, the cynic, the modernist, stooped and kissed her
hand. It seemed the natural thing to do, and she accepted it with the
understanding heart that Nature had given her.
"But, Lilias, where is the lad?"
"Oh," she laughed gaily, "the station-master kept him a moment to show
him an entirely new button he had thought of. But here he is now."
Coming up the path, carrying a couple of parcels, was a boy of,
perhaps, ten years of age. His hair was golden and curly, and his eyes
had a dreamy look that contrasted strangely with the strength of his
chin. He had the poise and the appearance of a thoughtful, well-bred
youth; but there was something, I could not say what, that told me he
was not English.
He touched his cap to me as he came on the lawn and smiled cordially to
Basil.
"Do you remember the gentleman?" asked Norman.
The boy shook his head and unconsciously moved nearer to the woman, who
placed her hand on his shoulder.
"You shouldn't forget each other," laughed Norman, "for once he played
the drums under your baton."
A few minutes later we went in for tea, the boy and Mrs. Norman going
first. I waited while Sindbad prepared to move the invalid, and then
turned to him for an explanation.
"Klotz was killed," said Norman swiftly, "and his wife died a month
later, after she heard of his death. We have adopted Siegfried as our
ward."