Their thoughts that day, unknown to each, had been upon the other and there was some emotion in the man’s voice when he spoke, though none in hers when she answered.  For to him that chance meeting came as a surprise and prompted him to a sudden approach he might not have ventured on maturer consideration; to her it seemed to carry on the experience of the day and, unguessed by Raymond, brought less amazement than he imagined.  She was a fatalist—­perhaps, had always been so, as her mother before her; yet she knew it not.  They had passed and repassed many times during the vanished years; but since the moment that she had dismissed him with scorn and hoped her child would live to insult his grave, they had never spoken.

He inquired now if he might address her.

“May I say a few words to you?” he asked.

Not knowing what was in her mind, he felt surprised at her conventional reply.

“I suppose so, if you wish to do so.”

Her voice seemed to roll back time.  Yet he guessed her to be less indifferent than her words implied.

He dismounted and walked beside her.

“I dare say you can understand a little what I feel, when I see that child run away whenever he sets eyes on me,” he began; but she did not help him.  His voice to her ear was changed.  It had grown deeper and hardened.  It was more monotonous and did not rise and fall as swiftly as of old.

“I don’t know at all what you feel about him.  I didn’t know that you felt anything about him.”

This was a false note and he felt pained.

“Indeed, Sabina, you know very well I want his friendship—­I need it even.  Before anything I wish to befriend him.”

“You can’t help him.  He’s a very affectionate child and loves me dearly.  You wouldn’t understand him.  He’s all heart.”

He marked now the great change in Sabina.  Her voice was cold and indifferent.  But a cynic fate willed this mood.  Had she not spent the day at West Haven and stood in the old store, it is possible she might have listened to him in another spirit.

“I know he’s a clever boy, with plenty of charm about him.  And I do think, whatever you may feel, Sabina, it is doubtfully wise of you to stand between him and me.”

“If you fancy that, it is a good thing you spoke,” she answered.  “Because nothing further from the truth could be.  I don’t stand between him and you.  I’ve never influenced him against you.  He’s heard nothing but the fact that you’re his father from me.  I’ve been careful to leave it at that, and I’ve never answered more than the truth to his many questions.”

“It is a very great sorrow to me, and it will largely ruin my life if I cannot win his friendship and plan his future.”

“A child’s friendship is easily won.  If he denies it, you may be sure it is for a natural instinct.”

“Such an instinct is most unnatural.  He has had nothing but friendly words and friendly challenges from me.”