The History of Sir Richard Calmady Part 90

"It is enough that you have done it for her, Katherine," he answered.

"With your ruling I am wholly, unendingly content."

"Perhaps d.i.c.kie and Honoria's dear works of mercy and the noonday tide of energy which flows through the house, have caused us to see less of each other than of old," Lady Calmady continued with a charming lightness. "That is a mistake needing correction. The young to the young, dear Julius. You and I, who go at a quieter pace, will enjoy our peaceful friends.h.i.+p to the full. I shall not tire of your company, I promise you, if you do not of mine. Long may you be spared to me. G.o.d keep you, most loyal friend. Goodnight."

Then Lady Calmady, deeply touched, yet unmoved from her alt.i.tude of thankfulness and calm, musing of many matters and the working out of them to a beneficent and n.o.ble end, slowly went the length of the terrace to where, at the foot of the steps of the garden-hall, Richard still sat. As she came near he held out his hand to her.

"Dear, sweet mother," he said, "how I like to see you walk in that stately fas.h.i.+on, the whole of you--body, mind, and spirit, somehow evident--gathered up within the delicious compa.s.s of yourself! As far back as I can remember anything. I remember that. When I watched you it always made me feel safe. It seemed more like music heard, somehow, than something seen."

"d.i.c.kie, d.i.c.kie," she exclaimed, flus.h.i.+ng a little, "don't make me vain in my old age!"

"But it's true," he said. "And why shouldn't one tell the pretty truths as well as the plain ones?--Isn't it a positively divine night? Look at the moon just clearing the top of the firs there! It is good to be alive. Mother--may I say it?--I am very grateful to you for having brought me into the world."

"Ah! but, my poor darling----" Katherine cried.

"No, no," he said, "put that out of your dear head once and for all. I am grateful, being as I am, grateful for everything, it being as it is.

I don't believe I would have anything--not anything save those four years when I left you--altered, even if I could. I've found my work, and it enlarges its borders in all manner of directions; and it prospers. And I have money to put it through. And I have that boy. He's a dear little chap, and it is wonderfully good of Uncle Roger and Mary to give him to me. But he's getting a trifle too fond of horses. I can't break poor, old Chifney's heart; but when his days are numbered, those of the stables--as far as training racers goes--are numbered likewise, I think. I'll keep on the stud farm. But I grow doubtful about the rest. I wish it wasn't so, but so it is. Sport is changing hands, pa.s.sing from those of romance into those of commerce.--Well, the stables served their turn. They helped to bring me through. But now perhaps they're a little out of the picture."

Richard drew her hand nearer and kissed it, leaning back in his chair, and looking up at her.

"And I have you--" he said, "you most perfect of mothers.--And--ah!

here comes Honoria!"