‘Good-night, sir, and maybe you’ll let us know what news they be in the morning, sir.’
Ronald and Vivian had already taken their seats, and it did not seem long until the carriage turned in at the lodge gates, and soon it drew up at the front door. A bright fire was blazing in the hall, and Lucy, little Dorothy’s nurse, was waiting to help them off with their coats and see that everything was comfortable. But, oh, what a lonely homecoming it seemed without mother’s cheery voice and bright face!
Even father seemed to notice the silence, for after having hurriedly glanced at one or two notes which were lying on his desk waiting for him, he turned to the maid. ‘Where is Dorothy, nurse?’ he asked. ‘If she is awake we will have her down. The little lady must act mother for us to-night.—Mustn’t she, boys?’
‘Oh yes, father, do have her down,’ they both cried eagerly. ‘We were afraid she might be asleep, but it would seem so much more “homey” if she were here.’
‘I’m afraid she is asleep, sir,’ said Lucy. ‘I put her in her crib just before the carriage came. She had been watching for it since before six o’clock, and she got so tired she went to sleep in my arms, so I undressed her and put her in bed.’
‘Then we must just do the best we can without her,’ said the doctor, sitting down and beginning to pour himself out a cup of tea, while Lucy saw to the wants of the boys before she left the room.
It was a very silent meal, and it was a relief when it was over, although no one seemed quite to know what to do next. The doctor sat restlessly turning over the leaves of a medical journal; the boys wandered out into the hall, and stood looking out of the long, low window at the end of it without speaking. The window overlooked the road which led to the village, and from it they could see the bright yellow light which burned over the little shop which served as stationer’s shop and book-club, as well as post-office. They knew that old Giles Masterton, who acted as postman, would bring up the telegram as soon as it came; and as he always carried a lantern they would be able to mark his progress up the road in the darkness.
Nine o’clock struck at last, and yet they waited, huddled together behind a curtain; and when Lucy appeared and hinted at the advisability of going to bed they looked so distressed that she had not the heart to insist.
‘The message will come all the same as if you were up, Master Vivian,’ she said persuasively, ‘and I’m sure your father will come and tell you what it is at once.’ But Vivian only shook his head determinedly, and pressed his face a little closer to the pane.
‘It must come soon if it is coming at all, Lucy,’ said Ronald, ‘for the office shuts at nine, and I think we can stay up until it comes. Father does not seem to mind, and we could never go to sleep until we know.’