“Yes, mist’ess, dat’s so. So mammy mought. Good-night, mist’ess.”
“Good-night, Tom.” The boy went away.
Roma passed into her chamber, and seeing her newly recovered pet sleeping most sweetly and safely on the outside of her bed, kneeled down by the side and gave thanks to heaven for the restoration of the child. Then she prayed for Will Harcourt.
Finally she arose, and undressed the little slumberer, so softly and deftly that the latter did not wake.
Only as she laid her between the sheets Owlet murmured in her dreams something about “Lady” and “Ducky Darling,” and some one else who “was not possessed of common sense.” Then almost instantly she relapsed into sound sleep.
Roma went to bed.
Toward morning Owlet talked again in her sleep, this time of “Mr. William” and of “Mrs. Annie.”
In the gray of the dawn she half awoke, and spoke to her bedfellow, calling her “Mrs. Annie.”
But when Miss Fronde replied, Owlet instantly remembered where she was, and with a sigh of ineffable content she sank into happy sleep again.