“Well,” said Sylvester, “I’ll try—when you are feeling strong enough.”
“To-morrow then.” He paused a moment and looked at Sylvester, and then said distinctly—“She is not the least bit in love with me now, you know, Syl.”
“Oh, my dear boy,” said Sylvester, hurriedly, “all this is very bad for you. Even for her sake, I can’t bear to have you distress yourself. It is so hard for you.”
“Why, Syl, I don’t feel enough like living, to mind as much as you suppose. Of course sometimes,”—he paused again, then smiled a little—“I know better than she does now, about a good many things.—Oh, I’m bad to-day! Lift me, Syl. A change makes it easier.”
Sylvester did what he could to mitigate the attack of pain which followed, glad that Lucian did not try to hide it from him, as he too often did from his mother.
He did not see how to manage the interview without Mrs Leigh’s co-operation, and decided to tell her of Lucian’s wish. She gave him a look which went to his heart; for in it was the acknowledgment of all which she could not bring her tongue to utter.
“I leave it to you,” she said, “he must have his own way now.”
Sylvester went straight to Amethyst and asked her to come at a given time, and to let Lucian say to her whatever he would. She looked at him for a moment, and he could see that she shrank from such a meeting, but she only said—
“I will come.”
“Thank you,” said Sylvester; “he has set his heart on it.”