Vivian's Lesson

by Elizabeth W. Grierson

So the wise man waited patiently, determined to win the little boy’s confidence by kindness and not by force, trying in the meantime to make the tedious time of convalescence as easy as possible, by reading to him, and playing simple games with him, and talking as if Pierre’s life had only begun with his illness, and all his past life had been one long blank.

But all the time he was watching and waiting, and when occasionally, at night, he heard a restless movement in the little bed, that had been placed so close to his that he could stretch out his hand to make a position easier or turn a hot pillow, or heard a stifled sob, he knew that sooner or later the strange reserve would break down, and the story, whatever it was, be told. So he watched and waited, and at last his patience was rewarded.

It had been a glorious summer day, and Pierre had been well enough to be carried down and laid on a couch under a great lime-tree, where he could see the river, and watch the boats with their loads of gaily attired holiday-makers gliding up or down, on their way to Dinan or St Malo.

It was all so bright and sunny, such a change from the darkened sick-room in which he had lain for so many weeks, that he felt almost well again, and chatted away quite brightly to the Vicomte, who spent most of the day at his side, for the post had brought Mr Maxwell some important letters which had caused him to go into St Malo after déjeuner.

But as evening came on, one of the subtle changes which come so quickly to any one who is recovering from a severe illness fell over the little boy. He grew tired and listless, and could hardly touch the glass of warm milk which old Suzette carried out to him on a dainty tray.

‘You are tired, my boy,’ said Mr Maxwell, who had just returned. ‘Remember, you have made a great step in advance to-day, so you must not wonder if you are ready for bed an hour earlier than usual.’

Pierre shook his head.

‘I am not so very tired, sir,’ he said slowly; ‘but—but—I was thinking that I will soon be well again.’

‘And that ought to make you feel very thankful,’ said Mr Maxwell cheerfully, although Pierre’s words, and the hopeless tone in which they were spoken, made him wonder more than ever what the mystery was which surrounded the little waif who had been so suddenly thrown on his care.