"
Then she went and laid her cheek against her mother's, and said: "They've
gone away for big game, mother dear; what shall be our quarry?"
"My child," the mother replied, "the story of our lives since last you
were with me is my only quarry. I want to know from your own lips all
that you have been in that life which once was mine also, but far away
from me now, even though you come from it, bringing its memories without
its messages."
"Dear, do you think that life there was so sweet to me? It meant as
little to your daughter as to you. She was always a child of the wild
woods. What rustle of pretty gowns is pleasant as the silken shiver of
the maple leaves in summer at this door? The happiest time in that life
was when we got away to Holwood or Marchurst, with the balls and calls
all over."
Mrs. Malbrouck smoothed her daughter's hand gently and smiled
approvingly.
"But that old life of yours, mother; what was it? You said that you
would tell me some day. Tell me now. Grandmother was fond of me--poor
grandmother! But she would never tell me anything.
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