“Mrs. and Miss Hayne are with your mother,” he said. “Get into Cecil’s bed and go to sleep. I will take him in with me.”
“I never leave memmy to other people,” faltered Lee; and then she put her hands to her ears, and shuddered, and crouched against Cecil. “I can’t sleep,” she gasped. “Don’t leave me alone.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Maundrell hastily. “You go into the sitting-room, both of you. Cecil, you had better make her a cup of tea.”
Cecil half carried Lee into the sitting-room, put her on the sofa, lit all the burners, and fell to making tea with nervous fingers and every sign of deep embarrassment. When he had finished he walked rapidly over to Lee, jerked her upright, and held the cup to her lips.
“Drink it!” he said in his most peremptory manner. Lee gulped it down. Cecil returned to the table, drank a large measure, then went back to Lee and put his arms about her.
“Now,” he said with an effort which brought his brows together and sent the blood to his hair, “you can cry if you like.”
Lee promptly buried her head in his bosom and wept wildly, with abrupt and terrible insight. Cecil could think of nothing to say, but he gathered her in and gave her little spasmodic hugs. He felt very much like crying himself, and at the same time wished with all his heart that it were three days later. He concluded that a girl must get all cried out in that time.
CHAPTER XI
ALL of Mrs. Tarleton’s old friends sent flowers, and many of them attended the funeral service, which took place in the death chamber. Mrs. Hayne had decided that a church funeral would be too expensive, and her boarders would have objected to the association of a coffin with the back parlour. Lee, holding Cecil’s hand tightly, sat in a corner, looking smaller and darker than ever in her black frock, the novelty of which had mitigated her grief for the moment. All of the ladies kissed her and told her that she must be sure to come to see them; and Mrs. Montgomery, who had just returned from Europe, and was very much agitated, asked her to come home with her at once. But Lee only shook her head. She and Cecil had other plans.
Her cot was taken into Miss Hayne’s room and she went to school as usual. Her grief waxed rather than waned, and she stooped so that Mrs. Hayne put her into braces, which confirmed her gloomy views of life. But her woman’s instincts were very keen, and she knew that if she was to have the solace of Cecil’s companionship, she must reserve her tears for solitude. He was very kind, and informed her that he loved her the better because she had such a jolly lot of grit and kept her back up (Lee had not mentioned the braces), and that his father—who hated Americans—had condescended to say that Lee was a jolly little thing, and had more character and good sense at the age of eleven than his own selection had accumulated in five-and-thirty years.