I shall not tell her."
"But," I began.
He interrupted me.
My heart was sinking within me. Not only had I wanted him to help me to
tell my uncle, but I shuddered at the idea of having with any man a
secret from his mother.
"It must look strange to you," he said; "but you do not know my mother!"
"I think I do know your mother," I rejoined. "She saved my poor little
life once.--I am not sure it was your mother, but I think it was."
"How was that?" he said, much surprised. "When was it?"
"Many years ago--I cannot tell how many," I answered. "But I remember all
about it well enough. I cannot have been more than eight, I imagine."
"Could she have been at the manor then?" he said, putting the question to
himself, not me. "How was it? Tell me," he went on, rising to his feet,
and looking at me with almost a frightened expression.
I told him the incident, and he heard me in absolute silence. When I had
done,--
"It _was_ my mother!" he broke out; "I don't know one other woman who
would have let a child walk like that! Any other would have taken you up,
or put you on the horse and walked beside you!"
"A gentleman would, I know," I replied. "But it would not be so easy for
a lady!"
_"She_ could have done either well enough. She's as strong as a horse
herself, and rides like an Amazon. But I am not in the least surprised:
it was just like her! You poor little darling! It nearly makes me cry to
think of the tiny feet going tramp, tramp, all that horrible way, and
she high up on her big horse! She always rides the biggest horse she can
get!--And then never to say a word to you after she brought you home, or
see you the next morning!"
"Mr.
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