Her voice grew tremulous, husky, and suddenly bending back her daughter’s head, she looked long at the grieved countenance.

“His last words were:  ’Minnie love, let our baby’s eyes and lips plead pardon for her father’s unintentional sins.’  They do; they always shall.  Cuthbert’s own wonderful eyes shining in his daughter’s.  My husband’s own proud beautiful lips that kiss me so fondly every time I press his child’s mouth!  At last I can thank God that our baby is indeed her father’s image; and because in death Cuthbert is my own again, I can cherish the memory, and pray for the soul of my husband!  Kiss me, kiss me—­oh, my darling!”

She kissed the girl’s eyes and lips, held her off, gazing into her face through gathering mist, then drew her again to her bosom, and the long hoarded bitterness and agony found vent in a storm of sobs and tears.

“I must sit joyless in my place; bereft
As trees that suddenly have dropped their leaves,
And dark as nights that have no moon.”

CHAPTER XXXVI.

“Uncle Orme, are you awake?”

“My dear girl, what is the matter?  Is Minnie ill?”

“No, sir; but this is mother’s birthday, and, if you please, I want you.  There are a few late peaches hanging too high for my arms, and such grape-clusters! just beyond my finger tips.  Will you be so kind as to gather them for me?  I intended to ask you yesterday afternoon, but mother kept me on the terrace until it was too late.  I have not heard you moving about?  Do get up; the morning air is so delicious, and the lake lies like a huge rose with crimped petals.”

“You are a tormentingly early lark, chanting your hymns to sunrise, when you should be sound asleep.  You waked me in the midst of a lovelier rose-coloured dream than your tiresome, stupid lake, and I shall not excuse you for disturbing me.  Where is that worthless, black-eyed chattering monkey Giulio?  Am I a boy to climb peach trees this time of the day, for your amusement?  Oh, the irreverence of American youth!”

“Giulio has gone on a different errand, and I never should insult your venerable years by asking you to climb trees, even in honour of mother’s birthday breakfast.  You can easily reach all I want, and then you may come back and finish your dream, and I will keep breakfast waiting until you declare yourself ready.  Here is the basket, I am going out to the garden.”

Regina ran down into the flower-plot at the rear of the house, and after a little while she saw her uncle unencumbered by his coat, bearing the basket on his arm and ascending one of the winding walks that terraced the hill.

To her lifelong custom of early rising she still adhered, and in the dewy hours spent alone in watching the sun rise over Como she indulged precious recollections that found audience and favour at no other season.

It was her habit to place each morning a fresh bouquet upon her mother’s plate, and also to arrange the flower stand, that since their residence at the villa had never failed to grace the centre of the breakfast-table.