Chapter XII

The Renewal of an Acquaintance

Following Mrs. Seldon’s directions, Lord Ashden climbed the narrow stairs which led to the haunted chamber. And as he approached the room he was surprised to hear a faint tinkling sound as of some one running his fingers over the keys of an old piano. Lord Ashden was puzzled, and approaching more softly he gently pushed open the door of the room and looked within. It was a pretty picture upon which his eyes rested, and one which he long remembered. A fair, slender lad with a pale, expressive face, which reminded the silent on-looker of the well-known portrait of Milton at the age of twelve, was standing beside the old harp which had belonged to the poor, foolish maid of honor. He was touching the dusty strings with the greatest care and reverence, and a smile of perfect delight played about his sensitive, mobile mouth. But Lord Ashden did not remain long unobserved, for a shaggy little dog which had been lying quietly at the boy’s feet raised his head, and, perceiving the stranger, began to bark fiercely.

“Down, Dash!” said Lord Ashden, advancing into the room and holding out his hand.

“As I live, my old friend Philip and his dog Dash! How stupid I was not to know that those eyes could belong only to Philip Norton’s boy!” And Philip remembered in a flash the happy day, now more than a year since, which he and Dash had spent on the lake with the tall stranger whose name was “Frederick.” He quite forgot his awe of Lord Ashden in explaining why he had not returned for the promised row on the lake, and he found himself talking easily, and with no sense of reserve, to this tall stranger whom he already looked up to with boyish love and almost reverence.

“So your mother is dead,” said Lord Ashden kindly. “Poor little chap, I think I know somewhat how it feels to always carry an aching heart. You must tell me all about her some day. I have always wanted to know more about Philip Norton’s wife; but let me tell you, my boy, that you have reason to be proud of your father.”

“Did you know my father so very well?” asked Philip timidly, hoping to hear something about him.

“Yes, indeed,” said Lord Ashden. “Has no one told you that we were chums at college?--and afterward we travelled together for over a year. Your father was an artist, you know, and I had a painting fever myself in those days, and used to perch by poor Philip’s side day after day, copying the same picture.”

“And are you an artist, too?” said Philip, with a kind of reverent surprise.

“No, Phil,” said his lordship, with a little laugh which turned into a sigh, “neither that nor anything else that I hoped to be.”

“I am sure,” whispered Philip, “that you are everything that is good, and I am so glad you were fond of my father.”

“No one could resist him,” said Lord Ashden, looking kindly at the boy. “I never saw any one make friends as he did. Poor fellow! What a bright future every one prophesied for him, and how dreadful the tragic ending of such a life of promise!”

Lord Ashden forgot, in his memories of a past time, that he was speaking to the son of the man whose fate he was mourning, and for a little while he seemed lost in reverie. Philip felt flushed and uncomfortable, and had a miserable feeling that he was in some way to blame for his father’s fate. But no such thought was in Lord Ashden’s mind. After a few moments of silence he seemed to wake to the fear that he had been neglecting his young companion.

“Poor Phil!” he said, laying his hand caressingly upon his shoulder! “you can never know how worthy your father was of love, or how he would have loved you.”

“Oh, would he have loved me?” exclaimed Philip eagerly.

“Would he?” said Lord Ashden in surprise; “of course he would; what doubt could there be?”

“I thought--I was afraid--I mean--I didn’t know,” said Philip, hesitating and feeling that he was on dangerous ground.

“What did you think and fear, and what didn’t you know?” said his friend, smiling.

Philip’s embarrassment continued, but he saw a look of expectancy in the eyes turned to his which made him feel that an answer was necessary. He had never been forbidden to mention his mother, but he felt instinctively that his relatives did not expect to hear her alluded to. Now he felt that he could not explain his feelings without speaking of her, and hence his confusion; but there was no escape now, so he honestly uttered his thoughts.

“I thought he would have disliked me on account of my mother,” said he, hanging his head to conceal his flushed face.

“Dislike you on account of your mother?” repeated the other in surprise.

“Yes,” said Philip, still keeping his face out of sight. “She was not like him, you know.”

“I do not see how that should make any difference,” said Lord Ashden gravely. “Has any one said anything to you against your mother?”

“One of my cousins said once that she brought disgrace upon the family,” murmured Philip. He might have added that Marion also called her a low, common woman, but he could not have told that.

“For shame!” exclaimed Lord Ashden. “Now listen, Philip, to what I have to say of your mother. I never saw her, you know, because--well, I never did see her, but I understand that she was not only beautiful, but also good, true, and noble. A mother that any boy might be very fond and proud of.”

“Oh, yes, she was all that and more,” cried Philip, his eyes full of tears of sorrow and of pride to hear his mother so praised; and then suddenly the sorrow conquered all else and he began to sob. Lord Ashden was in dismay, but Philip soon looked up, smiling through his tears.

“You must excuse me,” he said, “but, kind as everybody is to me, I do miss my mother terribly. Oh, terribly!”

Lord Ashden’s face had softened, and he was looking through the window far away across the distant hills.

“I know, I know,” he said bitterly. “No one can fill her place, no one.” His face had grown suddenly wan and almost haggard, and Philip remembered in an instant the fair young wife of whom Lillie had said that she was as beautiful as an angel, and that she had only lived a year after their marriage. He stole up to Lord Ashden and slipped his small hand into his; the other turned and looked down upon him with a swift change of expression.

“Thanks, my little man; I think we understand each other, do we not? And see here, let us make a compact, with Dash as a witness, that from this day forward you and I shall be _friends_, eh?--what do you say, my boy?”

“Oh, Lord Ashden!” cried Philip delightedly; “do you really mean it?”

“Here’s my hand on it,” he replied. “Did I hurt you? I’m not used to such a scrap of a hand, you see. Come now, we will go down and see if we can persuade your aunt and uncle to let you come over to Ashden again, day after to-morrow. I want your opinion on a violin I am thinking of buying, and then perhaps I may let you try it yourself. Did you ever handle a bow? But see here: if you are going to look like a transfigured seraph every time I speak of music, I sha’n’t let you hear a note until you have learned to row me about on the lake. But now if we don’t go downstairs and join the rest of the party, they will think that the ghost of the beautiful countess has made away with us.”

Mrs. Seldon looked up in surprise as she saw Lord Ashden and Philip advancing toward her, hand in hand, across the lawn, Dash following closely at their heels.

“Only see, my dear,” she said to her husband, “Frederick is actually smiling. I really believe that dear child could make the Sphinx love him; and he grows so like his father! Frederick must see it, and perhaps--who knows?--little Philip may help to fill the vacant place in that big, lonely heart.”

“Ah, Philip,” she said as they came nearer, “so you and Lord Ashden are friends already?”

“Oh, we find that we have met before,” said Lord Ashden, smiling, “and we have come especially to ask you, please, to lend me your Philip now and then for a day at Ashden. It is insufferably dull and lonely here for me, you know, Aunt Delia, but I believe if I had Philip and Dash to help me it would not be so difficult to kill time at Ashden.”

“You shall have my boy as often as you wish, on one condition,” said Aunt Delia, beaming on the pair through her spectacles, “and that is that you promise to come over to Lowdown each time to fetch him, and that when you bring him back you will stay for supper at the rectory.”

“Agreed,” said Lord Ashden with a handshake, the heartiness of which made the old lady wince; “but now, Philip, let us go and find the little girls and take them for a row on the lake. We must not forget the ladies, you know.”