“You’re quite a philosopher, I see,” said the old lady, nodding; “as great a philosopher as the fox who couldn’t reach the grapes, and he was one of the wisest who ever lived.  And now I think I’ll have another cup of tea, Roger, if there’s any left.  Give me two lumps of sugar, and just enough cream to swear by.”

The conversation now became more general, and Austin, thinking that the countess would like to be alone with her nephew for a few minutes before returning to the Castle, watched for an opportunity of taking leave.  He soon rose, and said he must be going home.  The old lady shook hands with him in the most cordial manner, telling him that in no case must he ever forget his mother—­oblivious, apparently, of the fact that by no earthly possibility could he remember her; and St Aubyn accompanied him to the door.  “You’ve quite won her heart,” he said, laughingly, as he bade the boy farewell.  “If she was ever in love with your father, she seems to have transferred her affections to you.  Good-bye—­and don’t let it be too long before you come again.”

Austin brandished his leg with more than usual haughtiness as he thudded his way home along the road.  He always gave it a sort of additional swing when he was excited or pleased, and on this particular occasion his gait was almost defiant.  It must be confessed that, never having known either of his parents, he had not hitherto thought much about them.  There was one small and much-faded photograph of his father, which Aunt Charlotte kept locked up in a drawer, but of his mother there was no likeness at all, and he had no idea whatever of her appearance.  But now he began to feel more interest in them, and a sense of longing, not unmixed with curiosity, took possession of him.  What sort of a woman, he wondered, could that unknown mother have been?  Well, physically he was himself like her—­so Lady Merthyr Tydvil had said; and so much like her that it was through that very resemblance that all these interesting discoveries had been made.  Then his thoughts reverted to what Aunt Charlotte had told him about his mother’s dying words, and how bitterly she had grieved at not living to bring him up herself.  And yet she was still alive—­somewhere—­though in a world removed.  Of course he couldn’t remember her, having never seen her, but she had not forgotten him—­of that he felt convinced.  That was a curious reflection.  His mother was alive, and mindful of him.  He could not prove it, naturally, but he knew it all the same.  He realised it as though by instinct.  And who could tell how near she might be to him?  Distance, after all, is not necessarily a matter of miles.  One may be only a few inches from another person, and yet if those inches are occupied by an impenetrable wall of solid steel, the two will be as much separated as though an ocean rolled between them.  On the other hand, Austin had read of cases in which two friends were actually on the opposite sides of an ocean, and yet, through some mysterious channel, were sometimes conscious, in a sub-conscious way, of each other’s thoughts and circumstances.  Perhaps his mother could even see him, although he could not see her.  It was all a very fascinating puzzle, but there was some truth underlying it somewhere, if he could only find it out.