on her favorite Sir Tristam, my father drove her carefully in the
carriage; there were no more balls or parties; "extreme quiet and
repose" seemed to be the keynote. Mamma was always "resting."

"She cannot want rest," I exclaimed, "when she does nothing to tire her!
Oh, let me go to her!" for some foolish person had started a theory that
I tired her. I who worshiped her, who would have kept silence for a year
rather than have disturbed her for one moment! I appealed to Sir Roland,
and he consulted her; the result was that I was permitted to steal into
her boudoir, and, to my childish mind, it seemed that during those days
my mother's heart and mine grew together.




CHAPTER III.


It was a quiet Christmas at Tayne Abbey; we had no visitors, for my
mother required the greatest care; but she did not forget one person in
the house, or one on the estate. Sir Roland laughed when he saw the
preparations--the beef, the blankets, the clothing of all kinds, the
innumerable presents, for she had remembered every one's wants and
needs. Sir Roland laughed.

"My dearest Beatrice," he said; "this will cost far more than a houseful
of guests."

"Never mind the cost," she said; "it will bring down a blessing on us."