THE reconciliation so late effected between the brothers was complete. Michael's one thought now was how he might, in the brief time that remained to him, atone in some degree for the coldness and indifference of years. He would fain have removed his brother to a more comfortable dwelling; but the medical man whom he brought to give his opinion refused to sanction the attempt. The risk was too great. The excitement and fatigue involved in the removal would probably hasten the end. All that could be done was to give as homelike an appearance as possible to the dreary room in which the sufferer lay, and to provide him with every comfort his condition demanded.
These efforts were not without result. His heart relieved of the load which had pressed on it, and gladdened by his brother's kindness, the sick man now enjoyed an ease of mind which could not fail to influence beneficially his bodily condition. He rallied wonderfully, and Kate even began to hope that her father's life would yet be spared. But Michael knew better. He was too old to be deceived by such hope. He could see that death, though it had relaxed, had not relinquished its grasp.
Every hour that Michael could spare, he spent by his brother's bedside. He even engaged a young man to help him with his business, that he might have more time at his disposal. But the new interest he had found did not make him forgetful of little Margery. Every day he sent to the house to enquire how she was doing. He knew that Kate, when she saw him, would be sure to question him eagerly as to the report he had received. She was not so absorbed by anxiety for her father as to be forgetful of the dear little maiden who was ill, or of her mother, the kind friend to whom she owed so much. She and Michael, whom she was learning to call "uncle" now, a name which sounded strangely in the ears of each, rejoiced together over the good news of the little invalid which each day brought. Margery was out of danger now and advancing steadily towards health.
One pleasant April afternoon, Michael determined to walk round to Mrs. Lavers' house ere he went to see his brother. He had bought that morning of a dealer at his door a pot of pretty pink cyclamen which he thought would please little Margery, and he wished to carry it to her ere the flowers began to fade.
As he was handing it to the servant at the door, Mrs. Lavers came down stairs, and, seeing him, advanced to speak to him.
"How very kind of you!" she said, as she admired the pink blossoms. "Margery will be so pleased. I never knew such a child as she is for flowers. Won't you come upstairs and see her for a minute? I know she would like to see you, and all fear of infection is past now."
Michael could not resist this invitation. He followed Mrs. Lavers upstairs, treading as gently as he could.
Margery had been carried into the little sitting-room, and lay on a sofa near the window. The room seemed full of flowers; there were so many friends who loved to send flowers to little Margery. She looked very fair and fragile as she lay there clad in a little blue dressing-gown, with her golden curls tossed in wild disorder on the pillow. Michael was dismayed to see how white she was, save for the rosy spot which glowed in each cheek, and how plainly the blue veins showed on her wasted temples. Her favourite doll reposed by her side, and open on her knee lay a book with coloured pictures, which Michael recognised at a glance as the "Pilgrim's Progress," with the purchase of which their acquaintance had begun.
The smile with which Margery greeted him as soon as she caught sight of him was reassuring to Michael. Surely no child who was not getting well could look so radiant.
"Mr. Betts has just come up to say, 'How do you do?' to you, dear," said her mother, "and see what lovely flowers he has brought you."