“Yes, my child, you must go,” she said, laying her hand on the cold ones of Barbara, who stood white, silent, and stunned by the shock.
“Oh, don’t make me,” said a dull, dreamy, piteous voice.
“Indeed you must, my dear. It would only add to the pain and confusion to have you here now. They may like to have you to-morrow. Remember, he is not here. Take her, Jock. Take care of her.”
The coming of Sir James Evelyn at that moment gave Babie the impulse of movement, and Dr. Medlicott hurrying out to offer the use of his carriage, made her cling to Jock, and then to sign rather than speak her desire to walk with her brothers.
Swiftly and silently they went along the streets on that June night in the throng of carriages carrying people to places of amusement, the wheels surging in their ears with the tramp and scuffle of feet on the pavement like echoes from some far-off world. Now and then there was a muffled sound from Armine, but no word was spoken till they were within their own door.
Then Jock saw for one moment Armine’s face perfectly writhen with suppressed grief; but the boy gave no time for a word, hurrying up the stairs as rapidly as possible to his own room.
“Will not you go to bed? Mother will come to you there,” said Jock to his sister, who was still quite white and tearless.
“Please not,” was her entreaty. “Suppose they sent for me!”
He did not think they would, but he let her sit in the dark by the open window, listening; and he put his arm round her, and said, gently—
“You are much honoured, Babie. It is a great thing to have held so pure and true a heart, not for time, but eternity.”