He was her attendant as far as the door; but when her summons was answered, she dismissed him. Then she walked straight to the bedside, placing her tray on a small table.
“Are you rested this morning?” she asked, gently. “I think you will feel better for some breakfast. I am sorry that you should be so fatigued and ill, for a place seldom looks bright under such circumstances. But we will do our best for you, and you must try as well.”
The scowl remained in his forehead. He raised himself on his elbow, and turned towards her, though his eyes were still averted.
“I am obliged for the trouble, though I do not need any breakfast,” he said, rather gruffly.
“I think you do need it. Here is a glass of cool spring water, and some fragrant coffee. A little of both may revive you. Does your head still ache? If I had known just what to do for you, I should have come again last night.”
“Was it you who—” and his face flushed a swarthy scarlet.
“Yes;” and mamma looked steadily at him out of her sweet brown eyes.
He moved uneasily, and in his heart wished she were away.
“Was it you who came last evening?” he asked, in a low, wondering tone.
“Yes. I felt anxious about you. I knew you were in a strange place, and, doubtless, feeling awkward and lonesome. That must be my apology.”