"Oh, no! they were very gentle, I think, very soft and mild, like folds of old soft cashmere; only Hester was blithe and gay, and she died, Hugh, when she was just my age. Think of it! to die so young and go away out of all the sunshine."
The child looked at her with strange eyes. "Why do you be sad?" he said. "Don't you know about your Mother dear Jerusalem?"
"A little," said Hildegarde. "Tell me what you are thinking, Sir Hugh."
"It is greener there," said the child, "and brighter. Don't you know, blessed heart? 'Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers as nowhere else are seen.' And more coloured words. Don't you love coloured words?" The girl laid her hand on his lightly, but said nothing, and he went on as if in a dream.
"'Thy houses are of ivory,
Thy windows crystal clear,
Thy streets are laid with beaten gold—
There angels do appear.'
"Two of them are papa and mamma," he added after a pause. "Do you think they mind waiting for me very much? At first I wanted to go to them—oh, so badly! because those people are devils, and I would rather die; but now I have you, Purple Maid, and your mother is like balm dropping in the valley, and I don't mind waiting, if only I thought they didn't mind it too much." He looked up wistfully, and Hildegarde bent to kiss him.
"How long is it, dear?" she asked softly.
"A year now, a very long year, only I had Merlin. And Uncle Loftus took me out of charity, he said; but mamma said I was to go to Aunt Martha, so that makes me feel wrong, even if I wanted to stay with them, and it is the pains of hell to me."
"Aunt Martha?" asked Hildegarde, willing to ask more, yet dreading to rouse the boy's scriptural eloquence on the subject of his relatives at The Poplars.
Hugh nodded. "Mamma's aunt," he said. "She lives somewhere, not far from here, but I don't know where; and Uncle Loftus won't tell me, or let me see her, 'cause she is a menial. What is a menial, dearly beloved?"