Beryl did not suppose for a moment that she should be allowed to see Percy, and it was a great surprise to her when Miss Burton said that evening, "Beryl, Percy says that he would like to see you, if you will go into his room for a little while."
"Me, Miss Burton?" she exclaimed in surprise. "Are you quite sure he said he should like to see me?"
"Yes, indeed, I have made no mistake," said Miss Burton; "why do you ask? Do you not wish to see him?"
Beryl scarcely knew whether she wished it or not. It seemed to her at that moment as if there were two Percys—the Percy who had been her tormentor and plague, and the Percy who had borne his pain with such courage, and thanked her so gratefully for the help she had given him. She felt rather shy of going into the presence of the Percy whose pale, suffering face had haunted her, ever since she watched him lying still and exhausted on the sofa in the dining-room.
"Yes, I should like to see him," she said, in reply to her governess; but still she lingered, till Miss Burton, with a view of relieving her embarrassment, said, "Stay, I will give you some grapes to take to him. He has been complaining of thirst all the afternoon."
Bearing a beautiful cluster of purple grapes, Beryl hastened upstairs, and gently rapped at Percy's door.
"Come in," shouted Percy, in a voice high and tremulous.
Beryl went in. Percy was lying on a low couch by the window, clad in a dressing-gown of Mr. Hollys, which fell in loose folds over his long, slight figure. The injured limb, swathed in bandages, was raised on a pillow.
Percy looked far more like his own self than when Beryl last saw him; but his face was still very pale, and there were dark lines beneath his eyes, telling of the pain he had suffered, and still had to bear, though in a less degree.
"Oh, it is the Duchess!" he exclaimed, as Beryl appeared, "and bringing me grapes too! The very thing I should have named, if I had been asked to mention the fruit most to my desire at this moment. It is very good of your Grace, I am sure."