“Yes, I know all about it. I’m going to see him presently, and I’ll tell him that I know his secret. Now, Kitty, you need not stare at me, for I’m never going to breathe it to any one except to Phil himself. There, Kit, the dressing-gong has sounded; we must go and get ready for supper.”
Meanwhile Mrs. Lovel, taking Phil’s hand, had led him out of the armory and to the foot of the winding stone stairs. Once there she paused. The look of placid indifference left her face; she dropped the smiling mask she had worn in Kitty’s presence, and stooping down lifted the boy into her arms and carried him tenderly up the winding stairs, never pausing nor faltering nor groaning under his weight. When they reached the tower bedroom she laid him on his little bed, and going to a cupboard in the wall unlocked it and took from thence a small bottle; she poured a few drops from the bottle into a spoon and put the restorative between the boy’s blue lips. He swallowed it eagerly, smiled, shook himself, and sat up in bed.
“Thank you, mother. I am much better now,” he said affectionately.
Mrs. Lovel locked the door, stirred the fire in the old-fashioned grate into a cheerful blaze, lit two or three candles, drew the heavy curtains across the windows, and then dragging a deep arm-chair opposite the glowing hearth, she lifted Phil again into her arms, and sitting down in the comfortable seat, rocked him passionately to her breast.
“My boy, my boy, was it very bad, very awful?”
“Yes, mother; but it’s all right now.”
“Did Kitty hear you groan, Phil?”
“Yes, mother; but not the loudest groans, for I buried my head in the cushion. I’m all right now, mother. I can go down again in a minute or two.”
“No, Phil, you shan’t go down to-night. I’ll manage it with the old ladies; and Phil, darling, darling, we have almost won; you won’t have to pretend anything much longer. On the 5th of May, on Rachel’s birthday, you are to be proclaimed the heir. This is the middle of February; you have only a little more than two months to keep it all up, Phil.”
“Oh, yes, mother, it’s very difficult, and the pain in my side gets worse, and I don’t want it, and I’d rather Rupert had it; but never mind, mammy, you shan’t starve.”