Guy bent over her, and whispered,—
"Clarice, don't you know that you make home to me?"
And Aymer put his rough, hard hand on her head, and said, gruffly,—
"You're a goose, Clarice. Show me the baby."
For the baby was lying warm and safe in her arms. She could at least hold the baby, so she did it.
"You get some bright stuff and make a bag, Clarice," wont on Aymer; "a good big one, because there will be pence, you know. You are to be bag-keeper."
"I suppose because you are sure I shall not run away with it," said Clarice. "I have a piece of queer thick silk, that I think was once part of our grandmother's wedding-gown, which will just do for the bag, and I will make it at once. Who is that at the door?"
The door opened as she spoke, and Mr. Egerton came in. He seemed to be looking for something, but he did not speak until Helen asked him, "Do you want anything, sir?"
"I left a book here, yesterday, I think it was; and some days before I left some papers, loose sheets pinned together. I suppose you have thrown them away?"
He spoke slowly, and almost like a person in a dream, and his eyes kept wandering round and round the room, until they rested on the vacant wooden arm-chair by the table, the chair which none of them had the heart either to use or to set by. His colour changed—at least, his face changed somehow, for he had hardly any colour—he pointed to the chair, and said hurriedly,—