I followed her directly, leaving Mrs. Dennison and Mr. Lee on the square balcony, on which the early sunshine lay in golden warmth.
Mrs. Lee had not rested well; her eyes, usually so bright, were heavy from want of sleep; and the pillow, from which she had not yet risen, bore marks of a thousand restless movements, which betrayed unusual excitement.
CHAPTER XIII.
JESSIE LEE AND HER MOTHER.
Jessie was sitting on one side of the bed holding a Parian cup in her hand; the amber gleam of coffee shone through the transparent vine-leaves that embossed it, and she was stirring the fragrant beverage gently with a spoon.
"Try, dear mother, and drink just a little," she was saying, in her sweet, caressing way. "It makes me very unhappy to see you looking so ill."
"Indeed I am not ill, only a little restless, Jessie," answered the sweet lady, rising languidly from her pillow and reaching forth her hand for the cup. She tasted the coffee and looked gratefully at her daughter. "It is nice; no one understands me like you, my daughter."
Jessie blushed with pleasure, and began to mellow a delicate slice of toast with the silver knife that lay beside it, making a parade of her efforts, which she evidently hoped would entice her mother's appetite: and so it did. I am sure no one besides her could have tempted that frail woman to eat a mouthful. As it was, one of the birds that was picking seeds from the terrace could almost have rivalled her appetite: the presence of her daughter, I fancy, gave her more strength than anything else.
"So you have had a bad night, my mother," said Jessie, tenderly; "once or twice I awoke and felt that you did not sleep."