‘Indeed, I don’t wonder. It must have been very lonely.’
‘I didn’t like it,’ said Robert, shivering; and getting to his German again, he described ‘das Gewitter’ beating on the panes, with wind and whirling leaves, and the unearthly noises of the creaking vane. The terror of the lonely, supperless child was dreadful to think of; and she begged to know what he could have done as it grew dark.
‘I got to Mr. Charlecote,’ said Robert—an answer that thrilled her all over. ‘I said I’d be always very good, if he would take care of me, and not let them frighten me. And so I did go to sleep.’
‘I’m sure Mr. Charlecote would, my dear little man,’ began Honora, then checked by remembering what he would have said. ‘But didn’t you think of One more sure to take care of you than Mr. Charlecote?’
‘Lieschen talks of der Lieber Gott,’ said the little boy. ‘We said our prayers in the nursery, but Mervyn says only babies do.’
‘Mervyn is terribly wrong, then,’ said Honora, shuddering. ‘Oh! Robert, Mr. Charlecote never got up nor went to bed without asking the good God to take care of him, and make him good.’
‘Was that why he was so good?’ asked Robert.
‘Indeed it was,’ said she, fervently; ‘nobody can be good without it. I hope my little friend will never miss his prayers again, for they are the only way to be manly and afraid of nothing but doing wrong, as he was.’
‘I won’t miss them,’ said Robert, eagerly; then, with a sudden, puzzled look—‘Did he send you?’
‘Who?’