"Mother, I am here—your own little lad. Mother, oh, mother! Mother dear—"
The soft brown eyes opened with a startled look. Then suddenly the intensity of yearning mother-love met Jeff's gaze. In a moment he was on his knees beside her with his arms about her neck.
"Never, never to leave you any more, mother—to feel your hands—to kiss your cheek every night—to nurse you—to make you well—to cover you with love. Oh, how could I ever bear it all! There is none like you—none—none."
The sweet pale face flushed in an ecstasy of gratitude and passionate feeling beneath the endearing epithets and the loving touches.
"My lad—my little lad," she kept repeating to herself in a low murmur, "he has come to meet me, to make me well."
In the few moments that succeeded, Jeff poured forth the tale of his adventurous flight from Loch Lossie. He made haste to soften the neglect of his mother's relatives.
"They did not know you were very ill, mother. They only thought you were a little bit ill before you left India. Aunt Annie said your maid would bring you down to Scotland quite well; but oh, I had the ache in my heart. It was a real pain, and I felt I could not wait, and I knew you would not be angry."
"Angry, my darling!" the mother said with a wondering smile, touching his hair with her weak fingers. "How pretty your hair has grown, Jeff, and you are so tall and look so well! Your father would be pleased to see you so big and strong. He will come home soon now. We are not so poor as we were. His uncle has left us some money, you know; that is why I was able to come to England."
It flashed across Jeff's mind that Mrs. Colquhoun must have been aware of his parents' improved circumstances when she invited her sister to Loch Lossie. He put away the thought from him.
"And your grandmama, tell me all about her, Jeff, and your little cousins. I have longed to hear from your own lips about everyone."