e.
After a while he said, with his great simplicity which seems somehow
in him the last touch of the most perfect breeding: "Yes, such an
apparition was enough to unhinge any one's mind for the moment. You
never knew her, child, and therefore never mourned her death. But
we--that is, Rene and I, who tried so hard to save her--though it is
so long ago, we have not forgotten."

It was then I asked him to tell me about the mother I had never known.
At first it was as if he could not; he fell into a great silence,
through which I could feel the working of his old sorrow. So then I
said to him quickly, for I feared he thought me an indiscreet
trespasser upon sacred ground, that he must remember my right to know
more than the vague accounts I had been given of my mother's history.

"No one will tell me of her," I said. "It is hard, for I am her own
daughter."

"It is wrong," he said very gently; "you ought to know, for you are
indeed, most verily, her own daughter."

And then by fragments he tried to tell me a little of her beauty, her
loving heart, her faithfulness and bravery. At first it was with
great tripping sighs as if the words hurt him, but by and by it came
easier, and with his eyes fixed wistfully on me he took me, as it
were, by his side through all their marvellous adventures.

And thus I heard the stirring story of the "Savenaye band," and I felt
prouder of my race than I had ever been before. Hitherto, being a
Savenaye only meant the pride our aunt tried to instil into us of
being undeniably _biennees_ and connected with numbers of great
families. But the tale of the deeds mine had done for the King's
cause, and especially the achievements of my own mother in starting
such an expedition after my father's death, and following its fortunes
to the bitter end, made my blood tingle with a new emotion.

Little wonder that Sir Adrian should have devoted his life to her
service. How madly enthralled I should have been, being a man, and
free and strong, by the presence of a woman such as my mother. I, too,
would have prostrated myself to worship her image returning to
life--and I am that living, living portrait!

When he came to the story of her death, he hesitated and finally
stopped. It must have been horrible. I could see it in his eyes, and I
dared not press him.

Now, I suppose I am the only one in the world, besides Rene, who knows
this man as he is. And I am proud of it.

And it is for this constancy,