He would force himself to remember that the music of human voices, however softly they might greet him, must be for him like those melodies of nature when wind and stream make the air musical, to which we listen with pleasure, but in which we have no part; and the aspect of goodness and gentleness, so lovely in the fallen child of Adam, must be to him like the light of a star shining far off in regions unattainable. Yet, while he felt within himself the courage thus to act, were he brought in contact again with her, whose sweet face had come beaming in so strangely on the darkness of his perpetual solitude, his very soul shrank from the struggle, and the longing so often before experienced to quit this house, where he was so unwelcome, returned upon him with redoubled force.
Whilst he was still sitting thinking on these things, his head resting on his clasped hands, there was a sound of rustling silks in the passage--the door opened, a measured, stately step went through the room, and Lady Randolph stood by the side of her deformed son. He looked up.
"Dear mother, I am so glad you have come, I was wishing at this very moment to speak to you."
There was an expression of displeasure and annoyance on her beautiful face as she looked at him.
"It cost me no small effort to come, I can tell you, Hubert; it is so wretched to find you here in this miserable room, with every thing so mean and neglected round you. You seem ever to do what you can to render your own appearance uninviting, crouching down there with your matted hair and melancholy face."
There was little of the accents of love in these words, and a slight shiver seemed to agitate the frame of Hubert as he felt at that moment that he was repulsive even to the mother who bore him; but he lifted his dark gray eyes to her face with the sweet, patient smile which filled his countenance at times with a spiritual beauty, and said gently:
"I did not expect you at this hour, or I should have tried to make both my little den and myself look more cheerful in your honor."
There was something in his expression which touched with an intense power a never-slumbering memory. She flung her arms round his neck and bent over him.
"Oh, my Henry--my Henry--it was his eyes that looked at me just now, as they have often looked in their tenderness, for ever perished--his eyes that I kissed in death with my poor heart broken--broken--as it is to this day--his eyes sealed up now with the horrible clog of his deep grave--oh, my Henry--my Henry--come back to me!"