Charles Dickens.] GEOFFREY STIRLING [January 6, 1888] 21
world would. To Davey he was always Mr. Geoffrey. Only one other name for him existed in Davey's vocabulary of love, and that was "Master."
"I keep hoping things may be better now," he said nevously, warming his hands at the blaze.
"Now Mrs. Geoffrey is dead?" put in his companion, and tap, tap, went the bobbins on their silken bed.
"Oh no, no. I did not mean that," said Davey breathlessly. "What I do mean is this: there are some natures which can bear any kind of suffering better than suspense — waiting for a thing is worse than facing it. Well, I think it is so with my master, and that the fear, the watching, the anxiety of his wife's last illness told upon him terribly. Mrs. Devenant, in all that I have thought and felt about him from the time I was a boy yon have been the one, of all the world, to show me most sympathy. You know all that is in my heart about him, do you not? You know how, all my life long, I have thought and dreamt of how he came into his uncle's room, bearing me on his shoulder, laughing, taking me under the shelter of his care, as it were, from that hour, and I not thinking all the while. Without him, I might have been cast out into the world like a mere straw upon a flood, to have drifted I know not where. 'Never forget, lad,' said Mother Susan when she was dying, 'never forget as Maister Geoffrey kep' yo' in the bank, whether or no, and saved me and Dickory fro' breakin' our 'arts after our boy.' And I never do forget, though I hardly think Mr. Geoffrey knows how well I remember. Once, I had been telling Master Ralph the story (he was a little fellow then, and loved to hear a tale told in the twilight) — well, when he and I went into Mr. Geoffrey's room a little later, he ran up to his father, and 'Dad,' says he, 'I'm glad you didn't let them send Davey to the poorhouse.' Mr. Geoffrey looked up from his book, puzzled for a moment, and then his face grew all bright — you know how it grows like sunshine when he smiles? — and he held out his hand to me, and 'Davey,' he said, 'I think I did myself a good turn that time, as well as you; what do you think about it — eh?' It made me so happy, Mrs. Devenant, to hear him speak like that; my heart grew so full as I listened, standing there with my hand in his, that I could find no words to answer him — not one! It is a long time ago now — a long, long time — but I shall never forget it: how the child climbed upon his father's knee, and put his arms about his neck, and how Mr. Geoffrey held out his hand for mine. I seemed to be drawn so near the two of them — who were themselves so close together — that I could never get far from them any more. When all that terrible trouble came, it seemed as though I were struck through them — the father and the son — always together in my mind; always, as it were, two in one."
"And yet," said Mrs. Devenant, "they are often separated now; young Ralph is oftener away than at home."
"Yes," said Davey, his delicately traced brows knitting in a sort of hazy trouble. "I know, and I often fear the master is lonely without what makes the whole place seem full of light and happy sounds when it is there. There are people like that, you know, people who make you feel as if all the world is light and warm, just because they are in it, and you are near to them."
Mrs. Devenant looked up a moment, then down again with a faint smile softening her mouth.
Was he not in truth laying his heart bare? Did she not know he was thinking of Hilda as he talked? Did she not hold in her hand the magnet that should draw him to the White House when she would, and — as love that has hope to live upon never stands still, but must ever be taking a step forward — would not the power of the magnet grow until all other influences, however potent, should pale beside Hilda's?
"If this is so," said Hester, passing over unnoticed the concluding rhapsody of Davey's last speech; "if Mr. Geoffrey misses the bright presence of his son so much, is it not strange that he sends the boy roaming all over the world?"
"Yes; I have often thought so."
"What do you think is his reason for so much self-sacrifice?"
"I cannot tell."
Tap, tap, went the bobbins on their silken bed, having all the talk to themselves for awhile, since the other two kept silence.
Davey, leaning his head upon his hand, watched the woood embers fall and glow.
And, though the bobbins never ceased their soft low clatter, Hester Devenant watched him keenly for a moment or two.
Then she broke into new ground:
" How glad you were when Mr. Geoffrey
