There sat Violet on a low chair by the fire, with the little boy on her lap. With a cry of joy she rose; and in another moment was standing, almost unable to speak, as she saw Johnnie, looking much surprised, but well pleased, to find himself in those strong arms, and his soft face scrubbed by the black whiskers.
‘He is pleased! He is smiling. You know papa, don’t you, my Johnnie?’ cried the happy Violet.
‘And he is all right again?’
‘So much better to-day! We trust the cold is gone. Does he not breathe softly and freely? If only there’s no return to-night.’
‘Was there last night?’
‘Indeed there was. It was too dreadful!’ said Violet, leaning against him, and lowering her voice. ‘Once Sarah and Mr. Harding both thought it was all over, and I never dared to expect to see those eyes come back to their own dear look at me! O, Arthur, when I thought if I could but once have seen him in your arms! I never thought to be so happy as this!’ and she caressed the child to hide the tears of thankfulness. ‘I’m glad you weren’t there.’
‘My Violet, why!’
‘You could not have borne to have seen and heard, and now you won’t have it to remember. At least, I trust not! Think of their once wanting me to go away, saying it was not fit, and that I was of no use; but you knew better, Johnnie. You held mamma’s finger tight, and when you came to yourself, your sweet look and smile were for her! And at last he went to sleep over my shoulder, as he likes best; and I felt each one of his breathings, but they grew soft and smooth at last, and after two good hours he woke up quite himself.’
‘And you! Sitting up all night! You are not fit for such things. How did you get through it?’
‘I don’t know; I hardly remember,’ said Violet. ‘Your letter was such a pleasure! and oh! I had help.’