"Ah!" The sound was almost a groan.
"It is all right now—I mean, you will never doubt me again—and I shall always be your child!" murmured Lettice, longing to comfort him.
His lips touched her brow, as he echoed,—
"Always my child!"
"Is she any better, uncle?"
A negative mournful movement came in answer.
"She has insisted on being alone for a time. After all—what can one do? What can any one say to comfort her? . . . Now you must both go to bed? And do not hurry up in the morning, either of you. Breakfast can be made ready at any time."
"And you, uncle?"
"I must have a little time to myself. Good-night, dear child. Try to sleep . . . There is need to sorrow more for the living than the dead; and that touches me more closely than you."
"I think—what touches you touches me!" she tried to say.