CHAPTER XXX.
WRAPPED IN A CLOAK.
THE first time Rose appeared conscious of the presence of any one else in the room, was after what seemed to the woman and Gertrude a very long time.
She had been bending over her child examining his thin little limbs, seemingly trying to reconcile facts which were so contrary to her remembrance; apparently the joy of having him in her arms again had swept away all else.
At last she raised her eyes to the woman, and spoke to her for the first time, still with a far-away look that had no realization of what all the present circumstances implied. She had got her child, as yet that was everything.
"How long has he been ill like this?" she asked.
"Nearly two years," the woman replied, in a low tone.
"And I never knew," said Rose dreamily. "Gertrude, he ought to have a doctor."
"Yes," said Gertrude, quickly wiping away her tears, and coming nearer.
"Let us send for one," said Rose.
But then her eyes caught the woman's shrinking look, and for a moment there was a breathless pause.
"I see," said Rose slowly, rising with a dignified gesture. "My sister said I should have much to forgive. I did not understand her; I do not think I do now. But all I know is that I have my child again. I will take him away now. You have restored me my child, for that I thank you with all my heart. For whatever else, I pray God that I may forgive you when I understand it. To-night I can understand nothing."
She moved from her chair, holding little Lester easily in her arms, then looking round for some covering, she took from her sister's hand the cloak she had thrown off on her entrance into the room, and wrapped it tenderly round her child.
"But, dear Rose—" began Gertrude.
"Do not hinder me," she said pathetically. "I have got Lester, nothing else matters!"
She went swiftly to the door and began descending the stairs, the woman hastening to the landing to light her steps.
"Good-bye!" said Gertrude, pressing the woman's hand, as she quickly prepared to follow her sister. "I will come to see you to-morrow. Oh, thank you, thank you for letting me bring her! If you could only guess what we feel!"
"I'll love you for ever!" said the woman, weeping. "If I could do anything for you!"
"Would you do it if I asked you?" said Gertrude eagerly.
"Indeed, indeed I would!"
"Then let me tell just my nearest friends about this. If you would do that, it would be the kindest thing you could do now."
"To let it be in the papers to-morrow morning," said the woman. "I can't do that."
"No—no, indeed; only ourselves. Oh, do let me!"
For a moment there was a pause, then the woman let go her hand suddenly, and set the candle down on a box.
They could hear Rose's steps had reached the hall, and Gertrude must go.
"I owe you everything—everything; you may do what you like! I know you will do nothing but what is right."
She turned into the desolate room, and Gertrude sped down-stairs.
There stood Rose, leaning against the banisters for support.
"How can we get out?" she asked hurriedly. "She will not stop us, will she?"
"I do not think so—oh no. But see, I believe we can open this from the inside."
While she fumbled at the lock with trembling fingers, they heard steps coming down the stairs, and saw the flickering light of a candle drawing nearer and nearer.
"Oh, thank you!" exclaimed Gertrude, when the woman turned the last corner. "We do not know how to open this."
The woman undid the fastenings in silence, but ere she opened the door, she turned to Rose with an appealing glance.
"It's too soon to ask you, even if you ever can. But, ma'am, if ever you are able to say the word 'forgive,' it would be the most blessed word that my sad heart could hear. I don't ask you for it to-day, but if ever you can—"
Rose looked up in the woman's eyes, then she looked on the little form in her arms which she was clasping to her bosom so tenderly.
"I did love him and do all I could for him," whispered the woman; "all but giving him back to you,—and now you've got him."
"Yes, I have got him," said Rose, still looking into those sorrowful eyes; "and I—" She waited as if thinking how far her words might be true, then added impulsively, "If it will comfort you, if it will show my thankfulness to my Lord who has heard my prayer, I will say it now—I do, yes, I do forgive you!"
Then she turned and went through the hall door and stood out under the starlight with her burden in her arms. The door closed behind them, shutting in a sound of weeping, and then the sisters paused, looking at each other.
"Hasten to Mrs. Shaddock's," exclaimed Rose, as if waking up to her natural self. "Ask her if I may bring Lester in, but I know I may. I must, till we can decide. I am sure they will not refuse."
They hurried on, and in another minute were standing once more in the lighted hall, with that muffled bundle in the agitated mother's aching arms.
CHAPTER XXXI.
ANOTHER PROMISE.
AT the slight bustle of their arrival, Mrs. Shaddock came to the dining-room door, and when she saw them, she exclaimed joyfully—
"You have never got him?"
But Rose's face was an answer, while Gertrude said, in a low, broken voice, which they would hardly have known to be hers, "We have got the shadow of what he was."
Mrs. Shaddock said not another word, but led Rose into the bright warm dining-room, placing her in an arm-chair, the rest following in silence.
Mr. Shaddock had returned from town, and when Gertrude saw him, she went up to him at once.
"Mr. Shaddock, it is a terrible story, but if I tell it to you, no indignation—nothing—can justify any one in making the thing known without our permission. We have only got our darling back on those terms."
She looked in his face appealingly. What if some stranger, who was bound by no promise, should take the matter up?
"You may trust me, but what has happened?" asked Mr. Shaddock.
While the rest gathered round Mrs. Leigh, too anxious to see her little boy to care, just then, to ask any questions.
Gertrude gave him a few particulars, and then both followed the others to where Rose sat caressing her little boy, and trying to coax him to reply to her endearments.
"'Why' does he not speak to me?" she asked at last piteously, meeting Gertrude's eyes.
"He has been frightened," said her sister gently; "perhaps if we have first-rate advice—"
"Frightened?" asked Rose. "Who—who could be so cruel—not Mrs. Swift?"
"No, dear Rose; it was a playful trick of her poor little boy."
"Poor?" echoed Rose sternly. "No wonder she asked me to forgive her!"
"And you did, darling," said Gertrude, kneeling down by her and smoothing Lester's golden curls. "You will not take it back now! It was not Mrs. Swift's fault—not that—"
"But Johnnie—that was his name, I remember now—where is Johnnie, who frightened my little Lester?" She laid her hand on Gertrude's shoulder, as if to impress her words.
And Gertrude, just fresh from Johnnie's grave and the woman's grief and repentance, could find no voice to answer. She only looked in little Lester's face and tried to think of suitable words.
"Where is he?" reiterated Rose.
"He is dead."
"Dead!"
"I have been at his grave to-night," said Gertrude. "If poor little broken-hearted Johnnie had not been dead, nothing on earth would have drawn your secret from the woman's lips. Little dead Johnnie has given you back your child!"
Rose's eyes fell, and as her glance once more rested on her child, the hard look which had for a moment clouded her sweet face passed away.
"Oh, forgive me!" she said, bending down to her child's face. "And little Johnnie is dead, and I have you still—"
Mr. and Mrs. Shaddock signed to the rest to follow them from the room, so that Mrs. Leigh might have time to recover from the shocks of the last hour. And Gertrude, seeing their kind intention, went with them, and was soon explaining all the circumstances to a breathless audience in the drawing-room.
"But the child looks dying," said Mrs. Shaddock at last. "Can nothing be done for it?"
"I hardly know," said Gertrude. "But, dear Mrs. Shaddock, I feel ashamed to trouble you—but my sister is not usually distracted like this—but if you could lend us a warm shawl, we will drive to the nearest hotel, and put him to bed. Can you tell me which to go to?—And may one of the maids get a cab?"
"You shall not go out again to-night!" exclaimed Mrs. Shaddock, appealing to her husband. "We could not allow it, could we?"
"No, indeed," he answered heartily.
"I will go and prepare his bed at once," said Mrs. Shaddock, rising.
"Oh, mother, let me help!" exclaimed Mollie.
"And you, Daisy," said Mrs. Shaddock, turning at the door, "go and ask cook to make a little bread-and-milk quickly, and carry it to Mrs. Leigh, for the little boy. Oh, to think we should have the pleasure of doing anything for such sufferers!"
Her eyes were tearful as she hastened away, and Gertrude thought that she had not given her credit for so much heart.
Daisy sped on her errand, and waited while the order was carried out. After two or three minutes she came up again, bearing the cup in her hand.
And just as she was hesitating at the dining-room door, Conway came across and opened it for her with an encouraging "Go in, Daisy; she won't bite your head off," which reassured her very much.
Mrs. Leigh sat in the same position as before, but she had thrown off her bonnet, and was now chafing her little boy's feet at the fire, while traces of tears were on her cheeks.
"This is for little Lester," said Daisy, advancing shyly; "perhaps it will help to make him warm."
"Thank you, dear," said Rose, taking it from her hand.
Daisy did not know whether she ought to withdraw, but Mrs. Leigh's next words showed that her presence was welcome.
"Hold the cup while I put some in his mouth, dear. He was never like this in the old days. But they frightened him—my dear little boy. By and by, when he begins to remember mother, he will not be frightened any more!"
She addressed the last words to the child, and he opened his quiet eyes and looked in her face. Then as he perceived the spoon held to him, he mechanically moved his mouth to receive the food.
"See, he understood me!" exclaimed Mrs. Leigh joyfully.
CHAPTER XXXII.
A VIGIL.
THE little one took but a few mouthfuls, and then seemed to tire of the food his mother was so eager to give him.
"He has not eaten much, has he?" she said to Daisy, who was looking on earnestly.
"Not very much," answered Daisy, "but, you see, it is all strange here. To-morrow, perhaps, he will know us better."
Mrs. Leigh seemed lost in thought. "Where is Gertrude?" she asked at last.
"She is helping mother and Mollie to get a bed for him. It is nearly ready now, I should think."
"I am afraid I ought not to let you take all this trouble," said Mrs. Leigh. "But—how can I bear to take him out in the cold?"
"Of course not," said Daisy simply. "Mother said so, and so did father."
"I am afraid he is very ill, dear?" she asked appealingly. "His feet are so thin, and his hands—and so he is all over; nothing is the same but his eyes and his hair, and even his eyes do not look at me as they used."
Daisy could not answer. She had heard a few words of Gertrude's description, and she feared, from her mother's looks of dismay, that the child's condition was far more serious than Mrs. Leigh supposed.
"Shall I fetch Miss Ashlyn?" she asked in reply.
"Ah, do, please, dear!" said Mrs. Leigh.
She busied herself over her child again till Gertrude came in.
"Ought we not to telegraph to Fritz?" she asked at once. "Poor Fritz! To think he does not know!"
"I have been thinking so," said Gertrude. "What shall we say, Rose?"
"Tell him he is found!" said Rose.
"Shall I say he is ill?" questioned Gertrude, gently.
"It is hardly worth while," answered Rose; "he will come directly, if he can."
Gertrude was silent. She could not let her brother-in-law have the joy without suspecting the sorrow. So she went back to Mr. Shaddock.
"My sister does not seem to take it in yet," she said, after she had told him about the telegram, "but I must tell Mr. Leigh cautiously—he is not very strong. I fear it will be a dreadful shock."
So together they framed a message which they hoped would convey their meaning, and then Gertrude went back to her sister to say that the room which had been prepared for her was ready.
Rose got up at once, and with her precious charge followed her sister up-stairs.
On the landing stood Mrs. Shaddock and Mollie, who led the way into the spare room, where a bright fire gleamed.
"We have warmed the bed," said Mrs. Shaddock. "Dear little man, I long for him to be in it!"
Rose accepted it all in silence, laying her little boy in the soft, white sheets, and hovering over him in the luxury of having him once more to tend.
"Lester!" she said, in her soft tone. "Shall I say your little prayer as I used?"
She knelt down by the bed, and laid her cheek upon his little hand, whispering the childish requests which for two long years had not been on her lips, and then, kissing him tenderly, she covered him up and moved towards the fire.
Mrs. Shaddock and Gertrude were standing there waiting; Mollie had gone behind the curtain, and was crying quietly, as if her heart would break.
"I think I will go to bed," said Mrs. Leigh, dreamily. "I feel tired, somehow. Will you think me very ungrateful if I retire now?"
"Not at all," said Mrs. Shaddock; "your sister will help you, and will bring you some tea if you will allow her."
"Will you kiss me?" asked Rose. "I do not know how to thank you. To-morrow I hope I may be able."
Mrs. Shaddock bent over her and gave her the desired kiss, and then quickly left the room, signing to Mollie to come too.
And thus the eventful day closed for the poor young mother.
She laid her head on the soft pillow, put her hand out to her child's, and fell at once into a profound and dreamless slumber.
It was midnight when the striking of the clock on the staircase roused her with its unaccustomed sound.
She sat up in bed, and saw Gertrude reading by the light of a shaded lamp beside the fire.
"Dear Gertrude!" she said, in a wondering tone. "Is it not very late?"
"Yes, dearest, but I am not tired. Do you want anything? See! Here is your supper all waiting for you. May I bring it to you?"
Rose took the plate in her hand. But after a moment or two she said, in her usual natural tone, "Gertrude, I seem as if I had been dreaming, but it is not a dream that I have my little Lester. And yet, Gertrude, I wish it could be a dream, that—that—all that has happened!"
She hid her face in her hands.
"Dearest Rose, He who has found our darling will help us to bear all His will. He will make some way of escape for us!"
"Ah, yes!" she said. "I know that. But oh, what will Fritz say when the little one does not know him? For me it does not so much matter, because I have him again. But poor Fritz—poor Fritz! Besides, I can trust my Lord even in this, but Fritz, he does not know what that means."
"Good will come out of it," said Gertrude; "this has been so wonderful that I am sure of that."
She went round the bed, and bent over the sleeping child.
"I think we ought to give him some more food, Rose. Mrs. Shaddock says he should be fed every two hours. It was for that I stayed up."
CHAPTER XXXIII.
"FRITZ IS COMING."
ROSE sprang out of bed at once. She had quite come back to her old self.
She threw her cloak round her, and went to her child's side.
She raised his head and again tenderly fed him. But though he opened his mouth obediently, he did not respond to her love and attentions in any other way.
Gertrude saw that now her sister was beginning to realize what in her joy at having her child again she had not noticed. But except for a little firm-set look about her sweet lips, she made no sign that as the shock passed away, so the certainty of continued sorrow grew upon her.
When the little one turned away his head from the food, his mother covered him up again and went back to the fire, Gertrude following in silence.
"Go to bed, darling!" said Rose, stroking her pale cheek tenderly. "I will sit up now."
"Not all the time? You will need your strength so much to-morrow."
"Yes," said Rose quietly, "I shall. But I must watch by him, Gertrude. Besides, I have to think what we must do."
"We need do nothing till we hear from Fritz."
"No—at least if you think these kind people will allow us to stay here till then."
"I am sure they will. Nothing could be more hearty than they have been."
"I shall rest here, dear Gertrude, till the morning; I shall have time to think. Go to bed now."
Early the next morning there was a knock at Gertrude's door, and she started up with a strange impression of not knowing where she was, or what had happened.
But in a moment it all came back to her. Lester was found! But—but—
"Miss Ashlyn," said Daisy's quiet little voice, "mother has sent me to call you; she thought perhaps you might not wake, as you sat up so late."
"Oh, thank you, dear!"
"Here is a telegram come—" said Daisy.
Just as she spoke, Mrs. Leigh came up from her room and entered behind her.
As Gertrude glanced at her, she saw that she was her quiet self.
She took the telegram in her hand, and stooping to kiss Daisy's upturned face, she said—
"Would you like to stay with Lester while I read this, dear?"
The child ran off joyfully, and Rose tore open the envelope. The words ran—
"'Shall be with you by six o'clock this evening.'"
"Fritz is coming! Oh, Gertrude!"
She stood silently holding the pink paper in her hand, as if in deep thought.
"He will come here then?" questioned Gertrude.
"Yes—I suppose you gave no other address. He will have started from Carlisle ere this, so it is of no use to telegraph back. Besides, I have no other address to give him."
"We will consult Mrs. Shaddock after breakfast," said Gertrude.
But no consultation was necessary. When Mrs. Leigh appeared in the dining-room, leaving Gertrude in charge of her little nephew, Mr. Shaddock came forward to meet her, and taking both her hands welcomed her heartily, telling her at once that they should not hear of her leaving the house for two or three days, in fact till her plans were quite formed, and that he should feel positively hurt if she and Mr. Leigh did not feel quite free to come and go as if the house were their own.
Rose turned white with emotion and tried to answer, but her quivering lips would not get out more than a very broken "thank you." And she sat down where they placed her, trying to recover herself, but feeling as if to have a good cry was the only thing she could do.
Mr. Shaddock seemed, however, quite to understand, and supplied her with an egg, while Mollie poured out some coffee, and the rest watched for opportunities of being of use.
"Where is Miss Ashlyn?" asked Hugh.
"She is sitting with Lester," said Mrs. Shaddock, "and Daisy shall take her some breakfast."
"Shall we have school to-day?" asked Randall. "I'm sure I hope not."
"No," answered his mother. "Miss Ashlyn will be busy with her sister."
"That's a good thing!" said Randall.
While Daisy looked shocked, and said reproachfully, "I am sure, Randall, you need not talk so, Miss Ashlyn makes school very interesting."
Mrs. Leigh looked up now. "Do not allow my being here to interrupt lessons," she entreated. "I cannot but accept your great kindness—but it would indeed be a pity to make any difference."
"Miss Ashlyn will say what she thinks best," suggested Mollie, which was decidedly nice of her, as she was longing to throw her influence into the scale of a holiday.
"Yes," assented Mrs. Shaddock; "we will ask her."
And when Gertrude was asked, as Mollie expected, she begged that lessons might proceed as usual for the morning, offering, however, to give a holiday in the afternoon if Mrs. Shaddock approved.
"Then we can sit with little Lester!" said Daisy.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
SET TO WORK.
IT seemed a long morning to all concerned, if the truth must be told, to all at any rate but Mrs. Leigh, who found absorbing employment in ministering to the wants of her darling.
At length school was over, and the children were released.
"Oh, may we go?" exclaimed Mollie. "I do want to see little Lester so much!"
Gertrude consented at once, hoping, however, that Randall would make himself an exception.
But he had no such intention; curiosity overcame everything else, and he ran on tiptoe with the others across the landing to Mrs. Leigh's room.
"Are we too many?" whispered Mollie, when, after her low tap, Mrs. Leigh came to the door.
"Come in, dears," was her ready response. "I know, after all your thoughtfulness for us, that you will be longing to see my little Lester."
The children advanced, Randall pushing in front of the others, so as to be able to see well; Hugh, who was kept at home by a cold, and was with the others, hardly getting a place at all.
"Come here, Hugh," said Gertrude softly; "this chair will bring you close to Lester's pillow. You can stand here."
The little boy looked up gratefully. Rose was uncovering her child, and showing them his bright, golden curls.
"Can't he be dressed?" asked Randall.
"He has no clothes," said Mrs. Leigh, smiling a little. Then her face resumed its quiet, grave expression as she added, "But I am afraid he has hardly strength just yet."
"We have heaps of Randall's clothes up-stairs," said Mollie. "I shall ask mother if he could not have some of those."
"Do not trouble her, thank you, dear," said Rose. "I can easily get some when I can go to a shop. He will do very well till the doctor has seen him."
Mrs. Shaddock, however, had been before any of them in her thought for the little stranger under her roof. She came in at the moment, followed by nurse bearing a heap of dainty clothes, which a few years ago had adorned her youngest boy.
"You are entirely welcome to these!" she exclaimed. "I have no use for them at all. I believe I ought to have given them away long ago, but you see I never have."
But when she bent over little Lester, her manner changed, and she added gently—"Perhaps it would be kinder not to disturb him with clothes and fussing at present. What do you think, nurse?"
Nurse was entirely agreed. "Let him be, ma'am, and give him as much nourishment as he is able to take," was her advice.
The little clothes were folded together in a drawer, and no more was said about them.
"Has he been out of bed yet?" asked Daisy shyly.
"Only to be washed. Oh, he is so thin!" answered his mother, looking up at Gertrude. "I feel as if I could hardly wait till Fritz comes."
"I am sure you must," said Gertrude, "but a few more hours will soon pass now, and perhaps Fritz may have some special doctor he wishes to consult."
So Gertrude left the children with her sister, and put on her hat to make her promised visit to Mrs. Swift at the Strange House.
She was quickly admitted, and the woman led the way into her kitchen without a word.
"I have come," said Gertrude.
"Yes, I knew you would. Have you any good news to tell me about the little boy? What does the doctor say?" she asked abruptly. She seemed as if she had strung herself up to ask those questions, for her lips looked dry and parched.
"Not yet," answered Gertrude. "We are waiting for his father."
The woman gave one of those gasps which Gertrude had noticed before, and then said hurriedly—
"It seems funny to have kept him so long myself without a doctor, and now to be sorry that you are even waiting a single day! And yet I am, miss. I'm afraid whether the little dear is not dying!"
Gertrude felt as if her blood grew cold to her finger-tips. But she answered after a moment quite calmly—
"I hope not—I trust not. Our Heavenly Father, who has so lovingly given him back to us, will lead us straight on now."
The woman glanced up with a faint smile. The first which she had seen on that woe-begone face, Gertrude thought.
"Ah! What a thing it is to have God to trust!" she exclaimed. "Dear miss! I believe if I had had my Saviour to go to two years ago, this would never have happened."
"I feel sure of that," answered Gertrude heartily. "Things will be different for you now, will they not?"
The smile faded, but the woman answered steadily—
"Yes, indeed, miss. But this is the last time you will see me. My husband says he cannot bear the house, and I am sure no more can I; so we have decided to go at once. You see, miss, we've got a little money coming in regularly, or we couldn't do it. We shall go somewhere where I can get to and from Johnnie's grave. That's all I care about now."
Gertrude put her hand on the woman's arm gently.
"Time will soften your sorrow," she said tenderly, "but there is something better for you than time. Jesus will soften your sorrow—nay, has He not already?—And will give you something to do for Him."
"My working days are over," said the woman dejectedly; "I seem to have lived my life."
"Yes, so you have, your past life. Now it is the new life you have to live; the life by faith in the Son of God, who loved you and gave Himself for you!"
"Dear miss, I wish I could."
"Ask Him, and He will show you how."
"Now Johnnie and the little one are gone, I seem to have nothing to do!"
"But there is your husband. There is everything to do for him, is there not?"
CHAPTER XXXV.
OUTSIDE THE GREAT NORTHERN.
WHILE Gertrude was away, Mrs. Leigh was surrounded by her audience of young people, who did not know how time passed in their interest in the beautiful young mother and her little invalid.
"I cannot think how you can bear it all!" said Mollie, as they stood gazing at the little impassive face.
"Do you really want to know, Mollie?" asked Mrs. Leigh, taking the tall girl's hand in hers.
"Oh, I was only wondering. Some people can bear things better than others, I suppose."
Mollie drew her hand away a little shyly.
Mrs. Leigh did not reply, but continued to look down at her child thoughtfully.
"I don't believe it is that," said Hugh in an undertone to Daisy. "Mrs. Leigh looks as if a breath would blow her away; it is not that she is stronger than most people."
Daisy shook her head assentingly, but Rose had heard the remark, so she said—
"It would be very wrong of me to take the credit to myself, Daisy. I could not bear it at all if it were not for looking up from moment to moment to Jesus. He is my refuge; were it not for Him I should be distracted."
Hugh smiled brightly. In his own little difficulties he had found it the same. How wonderful it was that the Lord Jesus could be just the Friend for everybody!—he thought.
When Gertrude came in from the Strange House, a telegraph boy was at the door, and handed in an envelope as the maid opened to her.
"It is for my sister," she said, and ran up-stairs with it.
"Fritz wants one of us to meet him at Euston," said Rose, when she had read it. "I cannot leave Lester. Will you go, Gertrude? Do you think Mrs. Shaddock would spare you?"
"But he will be here half an hour after," objected Gertrude; "is it not almost a pity—"
"Perhaps he wishes to hear all particulars before he gets here," said Rose. "At any rate, he says, 'Will Gertrude meet me, or you?' It is evident he wants one of us."
So Mrs. Shaddock was again consulted. And soon Gertrude set off, Conway, who had just returned from school, volunteering to escort her if she wished.
But she rightly guessed that her brother-in-law would prefer to hear all the sad story without a stranger being there, so she went alone.
As she stood on the arrival platform of the great terminus, with the screaming whistles round her, the buzz of the coming and going trains, the roar of London outside, she felt as if the world of Hampstead and that quiet bedside were far-away and indistinct; as if she could hardly belong to both.
She wondered vaguely what the next few hours would bring to her and her sister; what Fritz would decide about his invalid child; how he would bear the shock of her intelligence; and while she was thinking all this, she was conscious that the porters, who had been waiting about, suddenly seemed to be alert, the cabs made a move to draw up at the other side of the platform, and when she looked down the dim lines, two great eyes seemed to come creeping towards her, and in a moment the long train from the north was in the station.
She stood back, almost bewildered, for in her quiet life at home she had never seen such confusion or bustle before.
Where was her brother-in-law? Had he not come after all? She looked hopelessly up and down the emptying carriages, but no Fritz was emerging from them, that she could see.
Then a hand was laid upon hers, and a voice said so like Fritz's that she thought it was his, and yet—no, it was not Fritz who said in that tone—
"Gertrude! At last! Did you think we had not come?"
"Otto!" she said.
And then Fritz came hurrying up, too, followed by a porter with two portmanteaus.
"I hoped you would come," said Fritz at once, "because Otto would have been so disappointed not to see you, and we must drop him at the Great Northern Hotel as we pass. I could not bring him on to Mrs. Shaddock's, could I?"
"You 'could,'" said Gertrude, watching the portmanteaus being thrown on to the cab, and wondering what she ought to say. "But if you have made arrangements otherwise, perhaps it would be better. But they are the kindest people I ever saw."
Otto was holding the cab door open; she got in, and in a moment they were off.
"Tell me all!" said Fritz. "I felt as if I must bear it before I saw him. What is it?—What has happened to him?"
Before Gertrude had said more than a few words, the cab drew up at the Great Northern, and Otto had come to his destination.
"I cannot say good-bye yet," he exclaimed. "Have my luggage put in here, Fritz, and order our rooms. I will go on to Hampstead and come back again by and by."
Fritz got out to give the desired order, and Gertrude and Otto looked after him.
How well afterwards Gertrude remembered that ceaseless roar of omnibuses and cabs passing and repassing along the crowded street.
"Gertrude," said Otto's voice, "can we not manage to go somewhere together to-morrow? I have one day in Town, and I feel as if I could not go home again without seeing you?"
"I do not know, Otto. I cannot plan my own days now; already I feel I have run away from my pupils dreadfully."
"Bring them with you," he said hastily; "we will go to the Kensington Museum, or somewhere, to-morrow afternoon. There will be the doctor in the morning. Oh, Gertrude! If you only knew—"
Then Fritz came hurrying back and jumped into the cab, and they were off again.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
BY AND BY.
BY the time the cab arrived at Hampstead, Fritz knew the extent of his grief—knew that his only son would not be able to welcome his father or respond to his love. Otto would not enter, but wished Gertrude farewell when she left the cab, and had himself driven back in it to his hotel, where his brother intended to join him later in the evening.
Mrs. Shaddock met Mr. Leigh in the hall, and after a few words of kindly greeting, asked Gertrude to take her brother to his little boy's bedside.
She led the way up-stairs and opened her sister's door, herself passing on to her own chamber; she felt as if she could bear no more.
She did not know why, but the moment she was alone, she laid her head down on the window-sill and cried as if her heart would break. She thought she was crying over the sad scene that must be happening on the next floor; she pictured Rose's face as she uncovered their little Lester and showed what a shadow only was left of their bright darling; she pictured Fritz's anguish and indignation. But all the while, she wept with a nameless pain, as if for herself too, until she remembered that she would be expected down-stairs, and must not give way thus.
This thought roused her, so taking off her bonnet and putting on some little evening adornment, she hastened to the dining-room, where she knew the whole family were just collecting for their late tea.
On the stairs were her brother and sister, who explained that nurse had offered to stay with Lester, so they thought they would do well to join the family circle, and put aside their anxiety in deference to the kind wishes of their host and hostess.
At tea the merits of various physicians were discussed, Mr. Shaddock recommending one of whom he had heard at his office, who had treated an analogous case most successfully.
It was at last decided that Mr. Leigh should call in Harley Street on his way home to his hotel, and should if possible make an appointment for the morning with the physician, if he should advise little Lester's being brought to him.
"And what am I to tell Otto?" he asked at last, when he rose to go.
Gertrude had been dreading that question all the evening. How could she make Otto's proposition? And yet how could she refuse to do so?
"My brother came up from Rugby with me yesterday," said Mr. Leigh, turning to Mrs. Shaddock, "and asks if you will allow Gertrude and some of your young people to visit the South Kensington Museum with him. He has never seen the Natural History collection yet, and if they would like to come, he would be so pleased."
"I cannot come, because it is our 'at home' day," said Mollie. "Mother always wants me."
"Would you like to go, Daisy?" asked Gertrude.
"I should," said Randall; "it would be far nicer than school."
"Thank you—" answered Daisy, hesitating, "if—I should 'like' it very much; Hugh and I have always wanted to go there."
"I s'pose you wouldn't care to go without Hugh," said Randall, "but he ought not to miss school; he is always missing school for something or another!"
"Oh, Randall!" exclaimed Daisy. "It is not his fault that he is not strong."
Randall shrugged his little shoulders expressively; he was, however, too interested in the South Kensington plan to pursue the subject, so he asked—
"Will you take me, Miss Ashlyn?"
"Certainly, my dear, if your mother will let you go."
Hugh's eyes were fixed on his mother's face, while his father was watching him unobserved.
"To-morrow is your half-holiday, is it not, Hugh?" he asked.
Hugh started and coloured. "Oh, I should like to go," he exclaimed, hesitating, "if Daisy is going, and if Miss Ashlyn does not mind."
Randall was close to him, and nudged his arm now with a whispered comment, which, however, he did not hear.
"What did you say?" he asked, as he received a second nudge.
"Mother said you should have no treats nor anything because of your burning that five-pound note."
Hugh crimsoned, and then, catching his father's eye, he went to his side.
"Randall says I ought not to go because of that five-pound note."
"That is forgiven," answered his father quietly; "do not trouble about Randall, my boy."
Hugh raised his head, a light shining in his eyes.
Gertrude was rapidly arranging times and trains with her brother-in-law, as he was anxious to be off. Then he ran up-stairs once more to kiss his newly-found child, and with a grateful adieu to the rest, he was gone.
Rose remained with Lester; the boys were already busy down-stairs with their lessons; Daisy and Hugh hastened to their schoolroom to prepare theirs; and Gertrude, after a brief visit to her sister, sought them and settled down to lessons and work, feeling as if the last few days had been a dream.
When Daisy rose to say good-night, she put her hand on Gertrude's shoulder: "Miss Ashlyn, Randall will love you by and by."
"I hope so, dear."
"I'm awfully sorry he is so disagreeable—but indeed if you go on being kind, he will by and by."
"Yes, dear," she answered, "that is what I look for."