He stroked his mother’s cheek with his little hand, and she rocked him in her arms in an ecstasy of love and fear and longing. At that moment she loved the boy better than the gold. She would have given up all dreams of ease and comfort for herself if she could have secured real health for that most precious little life.
“Mother,” said Phil, “I do want to go to Southampton so badly.”
“What for, dearest?”
“Because I’m expecting a letter, mother, from Rupert. No, no, don’t frown! I can’t bear to see you frown. I didn’t tell him anything, but I wrote to him, and I asked him to send his answer to the post-office at Southampton, and it must be waiting there now; yes, it must, and I do want to fetch it so dreadfully. Can you manage that I shall go, mother?”
“I’ll go for it myself, dear; I’ll go to-morrow. There—doesn’t mother love her boy? Yes, I’ll go for the letter to Southampton to-morrow. There’s the supper-gong, Phil. I must go down, but you shan’t. I’ll bring you up something nice to eat presently.”
“Oh, no, please; I couldn’t eat. Just let me lie on my bed quite still without talking. Mother, my darling mother, how can I thank you for promising to fetch Rupert’s letter?”
Mrs. Lovel laid Phil back on his bed, covered him up warmly, and softly unlocking the door went downstairs.
She had got a shock, a greater shock than she cared to own; but when she entered the long, low, old-fashioned dining-hall where Miss Griselda and Miss Katharine and the two little girls awaited her, her face was smiling and careless as usual. The poor, weak-minded, and bewildered woman had resumed her mask, and no one knew with what an aching heart she sat down to her luxurious meal.
“Is Phil still pretending to be very, very dreadfully ill?” called out Kitty across the table.
Miss Griselda started at Kitty’s words, looked anxiously at Mrs. Lovel and at a vacant chair, and spoke.