“Pray when you write to Neville give him my warm regards,” said Isabey boldly, “and tell him that I respect his course while I lament it.” “Thank you,” answered Angela with dignity. “I shall have pleasure in writing this to Neville.” Isabey still halted a little in his walk, but was able to mount and ride gallantly away. As he cantered down the cedar lane Angela stood watching him. All had left the porch except herself. At the end of the lane, half a mile away, she saw Isabey stop his horse and turn in his saddle and look long at the hospitable roof which had sheltered him. Far in the distance though he was, she waved the corner of her scarlet mantle to him and he took off his cap in reply. Angela turned toward the garden with a strange feeling in her breast as if a chord had snapped, like the breaking of the G string on a violin. No other chord could replace it. CHAPTER XVII LIKE THE LITTLE TRIANON Four days after Isabey left Mrs. Tremaine and Archie returned. Colonel Tremaine had met them on the road halfway between Richmond and Harrowby. Mrs. Tremaine was full of courage and cheerfulness. Richard’s recovery had been complete, and as she said the first night the family were assembled around the supper table: “I have never seen our son look so strong and so handsome as he did when I parted from him the day before we reached Richmond. At first it was terrible to me to see him ill. I have been spared the anxieties on that account which most mothers endure, for you well know, my dear, how hardy our sons have been from their birth. But Richard’s spirits were so good, his determination to become thoroughly well so contagious, that I really never felt any anxiety on his account except that he would return to the army before he was able. However, with the help of the surgeons I managed to keep him in his bed long enough to cure him, and I assure you, my dear,” she continued, smiling at Colonel Tremaine, “there is a kind of lovemaking between a mother and son which is almost as sweet as that between lovers.” At which Colonel Tremaine, flourishing his hand dramatically, replied: “My dearest Sophie, I have ever felt our sons to be my only rivals.” The only fly in the colonel’s ointment was that he felt compelled as soon as Mrs. Tremaine arrived to resume his suit of homespun, which he regarded very much as Nessus did his celebrated shirt. At prayers that night the name of one son was omitted, and Neville’s name was no longer mentioned after Angela ceased to fill Mrs. Tremaine’s place. Everything had gone on in an orderly manner, and Mrs. Tremaine was particularly gratified that Angela had taken as good care of Isabey as could be desired. “I feel,” she said to Angela, “that in caring for Captain Isabey we perform a patriotic as well as a pious duty. Some day during this dreadful war it may be returned to my sons.”