Part 4 (1/2)

There was a faint movement on the sofa. It was Mr. Aston who answered, putting his hand gently on the boy's head.

”No, little Christopher, nothing will make you cease to belong to her; we do not wish that. But it will be more easy for you to have our name. We want Christopher Aston to have a better time than poor little Jim Hibbault. Only, Christopher, remember Aston is my name, and I am only lending it to you, and you must take very great care of it.”

”Isn't it his name too?” The child edged a little nearer his friend, and looked at Aymer.

”Yes, it's Aymer's name too. And, Christopher, if we were both to give you everything we possess we could not give you anything we value more than the name we lend you, so you must be very good to it. Now, Aymer, I insist on your ringing for Vespasian: the child should have been in bed hours ago. I must really buy you a book of nursery rules.”

Vespasian was apparently of the same mind as Mr. Aston. Disapproval was plainly expressed on his usually impa.s.sive face when he entered.

”Is that Vespasian?” demanded Christopher.

”Yes, and you will have to do just what he tells you, Christopher, just as I have to,” said Aymer severely.

Christopher regarded him doubtfully: he was not quite sure if he were serious or not. He did not look as if people would tell him to do things, yet the grave man in black did not smile.

”It's a funny name,” he said at last, not meaning to be rude.

”Vespasian was a great general,” remarked Aymer, and then added hastily, seeing the boy's bewilderment increased, ”Not this one, the General's dead, but this is a good second.”

”Aymer, you are incorrigible,” expostulated Mr. Aston. ”Good-night, little Christopher.”

He kissed him and Christopher's eyes grew large with wonder. He did not know men did kiss little boys, and he ventured slyly to rub his cheek against the black sleeve.

”Good-night, Christopher.” Aymer held out his hand, and then suddenly, half shyly, and half ashamed, kissed him also, and Vespasian bore him off to bed.

The two men sat silently smoking, avoiding for the moment the subject nearest their hearts, Aymer, because he was fighting hard to get some mastering emotion under control, and he loathed showing his feelings even to his father; Mr. Aston, because he was aware of this and wanted Aymer to have time.

All that day he had been secretly dreading to-night, shrinking like a coward from a situation which must arouse in his son memories better forgotten. He was not a man given to s.h.i.+rking unpleasing experiences to save his own heart a pang, but he was a veritable child in the way that he studied to preserve his eldest son from the like.

It was Aymer who first spoke in his usual matter-of-fact tone.

”Had you any difficulties?”

”None whatever,” answered his father, crossing his legs and preparing to be communicative. ”Stapleton had been all over the ground before and knew every point. We went first to Surbiton Workhouse, since she told Felton she stayed there. They found the entry for us. Then we went on to Hartley, which is quite a small village and off the main road. We stayed the night there, and went to the cottage where Felton had seen her. It was quite true, all he said. The old woman remembered distinctly a tramp-looking man stopping and calling to her over the gate. They sat in the garden and talked together for some time. She and the boy had been there a month, but they went the day after Felton's visit--seemed frightened, the old lady said. Apparently they meant to go to Southampton, for she had asked the way there.

Basingstoke must have been the next stop, but we did not know where until the boy told us. They were in funds, so did not go to the House.

We got to Whitmansworth the next afternoon. Then a strange thing happened, one of those chance coincidences that put to rout all our schemes. There is a hill going into Whitmansworth with a milestone on the top. I drove slowly, as I wanted to see if it really were the place, and by the stone was a small boy. The likeness was so absurd that it might have been ...” he stopped abruptly and examined his cigar, ”had I not been seeking him I should have seen it. I found out his name, and that I was right, and took him up and drove to the Union. They raised no objections--it was only a matter of form. The master and his wife seem to be good people, and to have been kind to the boy.”

He came to a pause again. Aymer still waited. Mr. Aston walked to the window and looked out at the night, and then went on without turning:

”She had never left the slightest clue or given any hint whatever as to her ident.i.ty. She was going to Southampton, she said. But she was dying of exhaustion then. They could do nothing for her. She asked them to keep the boy. The Mosses took a fancy to him, and it was managed. She would not say where she came from.”

Aymer lay very still, his face set and immovable.

”The strength of her purpose: think of it, in a woman!” said Mr. Aston a little unsteadily; ”the boy should have grit in him, Aymer.”

”What did they say of the boy?”

”Ah.” Mr. Aston resumed his seat with a sigh.

”Well, what's your own impression, Aymer?”