“Won’t she come sometimes and let me see her? Tell her how it is with me. I should like it, so much. Just to look at her!”
“I will tell her, and I am sure she will come. Rest now, and I will go and find her,” said Sylvester, gently.
“Yes, that’s what I want. Tell her how the Jackson girls come to tea, and many people. And the mother will call. But you tell her the truth.”
“Yes.”
“Just a few times more,” said Lucian, as he watched his messenger go.
Sylvester went with hurried steps, urged as much by his own feelings as by Lucian’s words. He made his way down into the sunny road where he had left Amethyst, and soon overtook her walking fast along it, with little heed to the beauty of sea or sky.
“I am grieved to have given you such a shock,” he said, “but I was obliged to think first of him.”
“Oh, I knew he was ill, but he looks as if he was dying!” broke out Amethyst, with a husky voice.
“Yes,” said Sylvester, “that is the sad truth. Life is all over for him, he cannot recover. He wishes you to know it. But, if you will, come sometimes to Casa Remi, as others do, and let him see you. It will give him pleasure. Mrs Leigh thinks society good for him. If he could see the old friendliness restored, he would not fret so much over his past want of insight.”
“I thought that he believed himself to have been perfectly right.”