“I shall not offer to go with you, darling,” said the Colonel, “because
my presence would only be inconvenient. But mind you keep the cab
waiting, or you may find some difficulty in getting another in that
district. What address shall I give the driver?”

“First to our florist in Regent Street that I may get some white
flowers.”

In another minute she was off, and in about an hour afterwards, she
found herself outside the Red House, which looked gloomier than ever,
with all the blinds drawn down. Margaret rang the front door bell,
which was answered by Miss Wynward. “Can I see Madame Gobelli?” commenced Margaret, “I have just heard the
sad news, and came to condole with her!”

Miss Wynward let her into the hall and ushered her into a side room. “You will excuse my asking if you are a friend of her ladyship’s,” she
said. “I can hardly call myself a friend,” replied Margaret, “but I stayed
with her in the same hotel at Heyst last summer, and I knew the dear
boy who is dead. I was most grieved to hear of his death, and naturally
anxious to enquire after the Baroness. But if she is too upset to see
me, of course I would not think of forcing my presence upon her!”

“I don’t think her ladyship would object to receiving any friend, but I
am not sure if she would recognise you!”

“Not recognise me? It is not three months since we parted.”

“You do not understand me! Our dear boy’s death was so sudden--I have
been with him since he was five years old, so you will forgive my
mentioning him in such a fashion--that it has had a terrible effect
upon his poor mother. In fact she is paralysed! The medical men think
the paralysis is confined to the lower limbs, but at present they are
unable to decide definitely, as the Baroness has not opened her lips
since the event occurred.”

“Oh! poor Madame Gobelli!” cried Margaret, tearfully, “I felt sure she
loved him under all her apparent roughness and indifference!”

“Yes! I have been with them so long, that I know her manner amounted at
times to cruelty, but she did not mean it to be so! She thought to make
him hardy and independent, instead of which it had just the opposite
effect! But she is paying bitterly for it now! I really think his death
will kill her, though the doctors laugh at my fears!”

“I--I--too have lost my only child, my precious little baby,” replied
Margaret, encouraged by the sympathetic tenderness in the other woman’s
eyes, “and I thought also at first that I must die--that I could not
live without her--but God is so good, and there is such comfort in
the thought that whatever we may suffer, our darlings have missed all
the bitterness and sin and disappointments of this world, that at
last--that is, sometimes--one feels _almost_ thankful that they are
safe with Him!”

“Ah! Madame Gobelli has not your hope and trust, Madam!” said Miss
Wynward, “if she had, she would be a better and happier woman. But I
must tell you that she is in the same room as Bobby! She will not be
moved from there, but lies on the couch where we placed her when she
fell, stricken with the paralysis, gazing at the corpse!”

“Poor dear woman!” exclaimed Margaret. “Perhaps you would hardly care to go into that room!”

“Oh! I should like it! I want to see the dear boy again! I have brought
some flowers to put over him!”

“Then, what name shall I tell her ladyship?”

“Mrs. Pullen, say Margaret Pullen whose little baby died at Heyst--then
I think she will remember!”

“Will you take a seat, Mrs. Pullen, whilst I go upstairs and see if I
can persuade her to receive you?”

Margaret sat down, and Miss Wynward went up to the chamber which had
once been Bobby’s. On the bed was stretched the body of the dead boy,
whilst opposite to it lay on a couch a woman with dry eyes, but palsied
limbs, staring, staring without intermission at the silent figure which
had once contained the spirit of her son. She did not turn her head as
Miss Wynward entered the room. “My lady,” she said, going up to her, “Mrs. Pullen is downstairs and
would like to see you! She told me to say that she is Margaret Pullen
whose baby died in Heyst last summer, and she knew Bobby and has
brought some flowers to strew over his bed. May she came up?”

But she received no answer. Madame Gobelli’s features were working, but
that was the only sign of life which she gave. “Mrs. Pullen is so very sorry for your loss,” Miss Wynward went on,
“she cried when she spoke of it, and as she has suffered the same, I
am sure she will sympathise with you. May I say that you will see her?”

Still there was no response, and Miss Wynward went down again to
Margaret. “I think you had better come up without waiting for her consent,” she
said, “if seeing you roused her, even to anger, it would do her good. Do you mind making the attempt?”

“No,” replied Margaret, “but if the Baroness gets very angry, you must
let me run away again. I am quite unequal to standing anything like a
scene!”

“You will have but to quit the room. Whatever her ladyship may say
she cannot move from her couch. She attacked poor Miss Brandt most
unwarrantably last evening, but that was in the first frenzy of her
grief. She is quite different now!”

“Poor woman!” again ejaculated Margaret, as she followed Miss Wynward,
not without some inward qualms, to the presence of Madame Gobelli. But
when she caught sight of the immovable figure on the couch, all her
fear and resentment left her, overcome by a mighty compassion. She
went straight up to the Baroness and bending down tenderly kissed her
twitching face. “Dear Madame,” she said, “I am--we all are--so truly sorry for your
grievous loss. It reminds me of the bitter time, not so long ago, you
may remember, when I lost my darling little Ethel, and thought for the
while that my life was over! It is so hard, so unnatural, to us poor
mothers, to see our children go before ourselves! I can weep with you
tear for tear! But do remember--try to remember--that he is safe--that
though you remain here with empty arms for a while, death can no more
take your boy from you, than a veil over your face can take God’s light
from you. He is there, dear Madame Gobelli--just in the next room with
the door closed between you, and though I know full well how bitter
it is to see the door closed, think of the time when it will open
again--when you and I will spring through it and find, not only our
dear Bobby and Ethel, but Christ our Lord, ready to give them back into
our arms again!”

The Baroness said nothing, but two tears gathered in her eyes and
rolled down her flabby cheeks. Margaret turned from her for a minute
and walking up to the bed, knelt down beside it in prayer. “Dear Christ!” she said, “Thou Who knowest what our mothers’ hearts are
called upon to bear, have pity on us and give us Thy Peace!