She at last
accepted the belief of the lawyers that he had lost his way, and, like so
many other hapless wanderers, had perished in the bush.
When Tom had become dear as a son to her, fears would sometimes rise that
his claim to Woodcote might one day be disputed; but as the quiet years
went on these fears ceased to present themselves, and when Pauline
mentioned Rhoda Sampson the name had gone through her like a knife. She
tried--she had been trying ever since--to tell herself that it was
impossible it could be James Sampson's child, but the terror had laid fast
hold of her, and she could not shake it off. It was as James Sampson's
child she had always thought of her niece. Her heart had refused to give
her the place Lydia's little girl had a right to claim. She could not
think of her as Lydia's.
Tom had not noticed his aunt's agitation at the mention of her sister's
name. He went on speaking of his visit to Broadhurst.
"They want you to spend a day or two there next week, Rosie. Mr. Powell
has asked Laura to sing at the concert, and she wants to practise with
you."
Rose's pretty face clouded over. "But I am going to stay with Pauline next
week. And I wish people wouldn't ask Laura to sing in public. She can't
sing."
"It's a pleasure to listen to her, though," returned Tom sturdily. "We
aren't all as critical as you, Rosie; and our Parish Room isn't the Albert
Hall.
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