He went away with a thousand schemes in his head. He would visit the doctor. He would—could he—might he, risk a visit to Charlotte? He was resolved that in some way he must save the boy; but it was not reserved for his hand to do the good deed on this occasion. After breakfast he went out, and Mr. Home, feeling almost like a dead man, hurried off to the daily service.
For a brief moment Charlotte was alone. The instant she found herself so, she went straight down on her knees, and with eyes and heart raised to heaven, said, aloud and fervently,—
"Thy holy, loving, righteous Will be done."
Then she got up and went to her little son. In the course of the morning the boy said to his mother,—
"How much I should like to see that pretty lady."
"It would not be safe for her to come to you, my darling," said Mrs. Home. "You are not yet quite free from infection, and if you saw her now she might get ill. You would not harm your pretty lady, Harold?"
"No, indeed, mother, not for worlds. But if I can't see her," he added, "may I have her toys to play with?"
The mother fetched them and laid them on the bed.
"And now give me what was in the brown paper parcels, mother. The dear, dear, dainty clothes! Oh! didn't our baby look just lovely in his velvet frock? Please, mother, may I see those pretty things once again?"
Mrs. Home could not refuse. The baby's pelisse, Daisy's frock, and Harold's own hat were placed by his side. He took up the hat with a great sigh of admiration. It was of dark purple plush, with a plume of ostrich feathers.