[CHAPTER XVI.]
JACK’S TROUBLE.
WITHOUT thinking, I strolled some distance, till almost out of sight of my husband. Nobody else was near. And all at once I saw on the grass, a good way from the road, a prostrate figure,—somebody lying flat and still.
A tired excursionist, was my first thought; a sick man, my second; somebody in trouble, my third. For I noticed a slight writhing movement, suggestive of distress, and a low sound, much like a smothered sob, reached me.
I went slowly nearer, without knowing why, without thinking what I meant to do. And my attention was caught by a certain familiar look in the outline of the shoulders. I stood still, gazed hard for an instant, and then was kneeling beside the prostrate figure in alarm.
“Why, Jack! Jack?” I said breathlessly. “Jack, has anything happened? are you ill?”
“I wish I were,” groaned Jack.
“My dear boy, what is wrong?” I asked, relieved to hear him speak, yet frightened still.
“Nothing. I mean, nothing you can help. Mother, please go.”
“But you will tell me what it is,” I entreated. For hitherto Jack had always turned to me in trouble.