“I really couldn’t exackly help crying,” he said, “for I couldn’t keep the tears out of my eyes.”
“He woke up a few minutes ago,” said Mrs. Boniface, “and finding your bed empty thought that something dreadful had happened to you, and as nurse was asleep I brought him down here, for he was so cold and frightened.”
By this time Lance had released Cecil and was clinging to Frithiof.
“Gwen and me’s been ill,” he said proudly, “and I’ve grown a whole inch since you were here last. My throat doesn’t hurten me now at all.”
The happy unconsciousness of the little fellow seemed to thaw Frithiof at once, the wretched five-pound note ceased to haunt him as he sat with Lance on his knee, and he ate without much thought the supper that he had fancied would choke him. For Lance, who was faithful to his old friends, entirely refused to leave him, but serenely ate biscuits and begged stray sips of his hot cocoa, his merry childish talk filling up the gaps in a wonderful way and setting them all at their ease.
“Had you not better stay here for the night?” said Mrs. Boniface presently. “I can’t bear to think of your having that long walk through the fog.”
“You are very kind,” he said, “but Sigrid would be frightened if I didn’t turn up,” and kissing Lance, he sat him down on the hearthrug, and rose to go. Cecil’s thanks and warm hand-clasp lingered with him pleasantly, and he set out on his walk home all the better for his visit to Rowan Tree House.
CHAPTER XXXI.
Had it not been for the fog his long walk might have made him sleepy, but the necessity of keeping every faculty on the alert and of sharply watching every crossing and every landmark made that out of the question. Moreover, now that he had quite recovered from his illness it took a great deal to tire him, and, whenever he did succumb, it was to mental worry, never to physical fatigue. So he tramped along pretty cheerfully, rather enjoying the novelty of the thing, but making as much haste as he could on account of Sigrid. He had just reached the outer door of the model lodgings and was about to unlock it with the key which was always furnished to those whose work detained them beyond the hour of closing, when he was startled by something that sounded like a sob close by him. He paused and listened; it came again.
“Who is there?” he said, straining his eyes to pierce the thick curtain of fog that hung before him.