Margaret could eat no breakfast, but she took a few sips of the milk Ross brought her a short while later, and afterwards fell into an uneasy sleep. The maid, moving about softly, lit the fire and dusted the room, then turned her attention to the flushed face on the pillow.
"Poor little thing, she does look poorly," she murmured. "And it's all on account of that tiresome child, Master Gerald. 'Tis a shame of the mistress to spoil him so; everyone can see but her that she's ruining him, allowing him his own way as she does."
Margaret moved restlessly and began to mutter. Ross bent over her, and caught the sound of Gerald's name. She laid her cool hand softly against the little girl's cheek and felt how it burnt.
"She's very feverish," she thought. "I do hope she isn't going to be really ill. A nice home-coming it will be for master, if she is. I wonder if the mistress would trouble much?"
Roes moved away to the fireplace, and taking up some sewing-work, stitched industriously, every now and again glancing towards the restless sleeper.
Suddenly the little girl uttered a shriek and sprang up in bed, whereupon Ross dropped her work and hastened to the bedside.
"What is it, dear?" she asked, putting her arms around Margaret's quivering form. "You've had a bad dream, I expect—but it was only a dream. See, now, don't tremble so, you're perfectly safe with Ross."
"Where's Gerald?" Margaret demanded in a strange, hoarse voice.
"Doing his lessons with Miss Conway."
"Where's Gerald?" the little girl reiterated.