Ronald did not answer him. He could not; the whole thing seemed too terrible to be true, and yet in his heart he knew that Mary thought that his little cousin was dying. That was why she was crying, and that was why they had telegraphed for his father.
He crossed the room in silence, and stood beside his brother, looking out like him at the golden sunlight, which was turning every frosted twig into a spray of diamonds, and wondering at the contrast between the brightness which lay over everything out of doors, and the shadow which was darkening and saddening the house.
But Vivian would not let him remain silent. ‘Speak, Ronald, speak!’ he cried, taking hold of Ronald’s arm and shaking it in his excitement. ‘She won’t die; she mustn’t. Why, she was at the Hippodrome the other night, and she was as well as any of us. She can’t die yet; people don’t die so quickly.’
Just then a sound reached their ears which made the words die away on Vivian’s lips. It was the sound of a weak, quavering little voice calling out ‘Vivian, Vivian! let us run and hide.’ It was Isobel, poor child, thinking, in her delirium, that she was once more playing in the garden.
The boys knew her voice in a moment, but how sadly it was changed! Somehow the sound of it calmed Vivian’s excitement, and he laid his head against his brother’s shoulder and began to sob in a dull, hopeless way.
God was beginning to punish him, he thought, not in the way he had expected by the discovery of his sin, but in a far more terrible way. First of all he had caused suspicion to fall on Joe, and Joe was going to be put in prison, and now He was taking Isobel away, and the punishment which should have fallen on him—Vivian—alone, was going to fall on Aunt Dora, and Uncle Walter, and Ralph, and little Claude.
‘Suppose we say our prayers, Vivi,’ said Ronald with a break in his voice. ‘If Jesus could bring back Jairus’ little daughter, He can make Isobel better; and it is the only thing we can do to help.’
‘You can if you like,’ said Vivian, hopeless; ‘but it would be no good for me to do it. I’m not good enough.’
‘No more am I,’ said Ronald humbly; ‘but mother says that it isn’t our goodness or badness that matters; it is if we really mean what we say, and it is “for Jesus’ sake,” you know,’ he added shyly, for neither of the boys were wont to talk much about religion.