Those understanding eyes of Lucilla’s were drinking in each word, but Uncle Kit ruthlessly said—‘There, it’s your walking time, children; you go out now.’
Honora followed up his words with her orders, and Lucille obeyed, only casting another wistful look, as if she knew her fate hung in the scales. It was showing tact such as could hardly have been expected from the little impetuous termagant, and was the best pleading for her cause, for her uncle’s first observation was—‘A wonder! Six months back, there would have been an explosion!’
‘I am glad you think them improved.’
‘Civilized beings, not plagues. You have been very good to them;’ and as she intimated her own pleasure in them, he continued—‘It will be better for them at Castle Blanch to have been a little broken in; the change from his indulgence would have been terrible.’
‘If it were possible to leave them with me, I should be so happy,’ at length gasped Honora, meeting an inquiring dart from the captain’s eyes, as he only made an interrogative sound as though to give himself time to think, and she proceeded it broken sentences—‘If their uncle and aunt did not so very much wish for them—perhaps—I could—’
‘Well,’ said Captain Charteris, apparently so little aided by his thoughts as to see no hope of overcoming his perplexity without expressing it, ‘the truth is that, though I had not meant to say anything of it, for I think relations should come first, I believe poor Sandbrook would have preferred it.’ And while her colour deepened, and she locked her trembling fingers together to keep them still, he went on. ‘Yes! you can’t think how often I called myself a dozen fools for having parted him from his children! Never held up his head again! I could get him to take interest in nothing—every child he saw he was only comparing to one or other of them. After the year turned, and he talked of coming home, he was more cheerful; but strangely enough, for those last days at Hyères, though he seemed better, his spirits sank unaccountably, and he would talk more of the
poor little thing that he lost than of these! Then he had a letter from you which set him sighing, and wishing they could always have such care! Altogether, I thought to divert him by taking him on that expedition, but— Well, I’ve been provoked with him many a time, but there was more of the real thing in him than in the rest of us, and I feel as if the best part of our family were gone.’
‘And this was all? He was too ill to say much afterwards?’
‘Couldn’t speak when he rang in the morning! Was gone by that time next day. Now,’ added the captain, after a silence, ‘I tell you candidly that my feeling is that the ordinary course is right. I think Charles ought to take the children, and the children ought to be with Charles.’
‘If you think so,’ began Honor, with failing hopes.