Theodore's talk with Jack had done him good. He went quietly back to his own room, and was soon asleep. But Jack lay awake for a long while, thinking of his stepbrother; and in the morning, when his mother came to see him, as she always did the first thing, she found him feverish, and tossing about restlessly. Jack was ill; and, as evening drew on, he grew rapidly worse.
The village doctor came, shook his head gravely, and spoke of further advice. Then the great London physician was telegraphed for, and the next morning he arrived, and was shut up for a long time in Jack's room.
"I am glad he is here," Theodore said to Jane. "It will be all right now, you'll see. He'll make Jack better, won't he?"
Jane made no answer, so Theodore went downstairs, meaning to wait in the drawing-room till the doctors came down, hoping to hear what they thought about his stepbrother. To his surprise he found his aunts there.
"We are terribly shocked at the sad news," Miss Selina said, kindly drawing the boy towards her, and kissing his troubled race. "We must hope for the best, my dear. Jack is in God's hands."
"Oh, he has been very ill before, Aunt Selina, and has always got well again!"
"Yes, but each attack must leave him weaker. He suffers terribly, I hear?"
"Oh, yes, he does! Sometimes he can't help crying out; but I expect the London doctor will give him something to stop the pain; don't you think so?"
"I hope so."
"You seem very fond of him," Miss Penelope remarked, her voice sounding unusually soft and gentle.