“I want——”
“Justin’s having his dinner. He’s so hungry—so tired from his long ride. He had to carry you, too, you know. You don’t want to call poor Justin upstairs in the middle of his dinner, do you?”
“No. Oh, no.” Then, with concern—“Poor, tired Justin!”
She lay quiet.
But when Justin, on his way to his own night’s rest, put his head round the door to see, on Mrs. Cloud’s behalf, “if that child was all right,” he found her lying as his mother had left her, still with those wide, unwinking eyes of a watchful dog fixed upon the door.
“Hullo, old thing! Awake still? Want to say good-night?”
She nodded dumbly.
He crossed the room, and stood looking down at her.
“Comfortable?”
She nodded again.