A low faint sob caught Vyner’s ear, and, on hurrying below, he found Ada seated at the table, with her head leaning on her arms.
“What’s the matter, Ada darling?” asked he, gently.
“Oh, papa, it was for his mother he was crying, for though she seldom spoke to him or noticed him, he used to see her at the window, and now he’ll never see her more.”
“We must try and comfort him, Ada; the poor boy has a very dreary lot in life.”
“He says he is happy, papa! and that he only hopes he’ll never have to leave this lonely island all his life.”
“Did he speak of his father at all?”
“No, papa; only to say that he’d never remember whether he was at home or abroad, and that it was so pleasant not to have any one who cared what became of one.”
“And you—did you agree with him?”
“Oh no, no!” cried she, as her eyes swam in tears. “I could have told him how much better it was to be loved.”
Vyner turned away to hide his own emotion, and then, with an affected carelessness, said, “Get over this music-lesson now, and whenever you are free tell Mr. Crab to hoist a bit of white bunting to the peak, and I’ll come back to fetch you for a walk with me.”