"Is he conscious now?" Enid asked eagerly.
"Well, no—not exactly—light-headed a little, I suppose. At least——"
"Who has written, uncle Richard? Can I see the letter?"
"No, no, no! Not for you to read, my dear! It's from the doctor—nothing much—nothing for you to see."
Enid was silent for a few minutes; then she spoke with sudden determination.
"Uncle Richard, you are treating me like a child! There is something that you are hiding from me which I ought to know—I am sure of it! Will you not tell me what it is?"
"You are quite mistaken, my dear! There is nothing to tell—nothing, that is, in the least particular—nothing that you need trouble about at all."
"There is something! Oh, uncle Richard"—and she rose from her seat and knelt down beside him, putting one arm around his neck and fixing her wistful blue eyes upon his weather-beaten countenance—"you do not know how much anxiety you cause me by being silent, when I am sure that there is something in your mind which concerns me, and which I am not to know! Even if it is a great misfortune—a great sorrow—I would rather know it than imagine all sorts of dreadful things, as I do now. Whatever it is, please tell me. It is cruel to keep me in ignorance!"
The General looked puzzled and troubled.
"You had better ask Flossy, dear," he said, pulling the ends of his long white moustache, and looking away from the pleading face before him. "If there's anything to tell, she could tell it better than I."