“No,—no! take it away. I tell you I want nothing.”
“But, for my sake, dear—”
“Let me alone, Elsie! There,—there! Don’t teaze me.”
The nurse stood for some moments watching the deepening gloom of the up-turned countenance, listening to the weird strains that seemed to drip from the white fingers as they wandered slowly across the keys; then, kneeling at her side, grasped the hands firmly, and covered them with kisses.
“Precious bairn! don’t play any more to-night. For God’s sake, let me shut up this piano that is making a ghost of you! You will get so stirred up you can’t close your eyes,—you know you will; and then I shall cry till day-break. If you don’t care for yourself, dearie, do try to care a little for the old woman who loves you better than her life, and who never can sleep till she knows your precious head is on its pillow. My pretty darling, you are killing me by inches, and I shall stay here on my knees until you leave the piano, if that is not till noon to-morrow. You may order me away; but not a step will I stir. God help you, my bairn!”
Mrs. Gerome made an effort to extricate her hands, but the iron grasp was relentless; and, in a tone of great annoyance, she exclaimed,—
“Oh, Elsie! You are an intolerable—”
“Well, dear, say it out,—an intolerable old fool! Isn’t that what you mean?”
“Not exactly; but you presume upon my forbearance. Elsie, you must not interrupt and annoy me, for I tell you now I will not submit to it. You forget that I am not a child.”