One day Clarissa had not appeared at the morning meal, but pleading illness, had gone to Mrs. Millard's and remained till after the time for him to retire. He became so aggrieved he wanted sympathy, and, although during all the time they had been growing nearer and dearer they had neither of them ever referred to what they considered their common sorrow, when it became time for Augustus to go to bed, and his mother had not returned, he went quietly with Dinah without a word, but noting his father's pained expression, after he had been undressed and prepared to sleep, he suddenly resolved to go back to him and tell him that he loved him and not to grieve. Dinah could not control him, but she insisted in wrapping him with shawls to keep him warm, and, placing him in his chair, promised to remain where she was till his return.
With the help of one of the other servants, he soon reached the room where he had left his father, and entered. William sat quietly looking straight before him, so did not notice him at first, but afterward, hearing the noise of his chair, he looked up, surprised and perplexed.
"Why, Augustus, I thought you were sleeping. Are you ill?"
There was no answer, but William saw the tears in the boy's eyes. He said no more,—his heart ached for sympathy, and it was a relief to have him near to lavish his affection upon. He lifted Augustus from his chair into his arms, and as the boy's head went to his shoulder, his arms wound around his neck in a tight embrace. For quite a time neither spoke, then Augustus, lifting his head and looking piteously into his father's face, said:
"She does not love us any more."
William could not speak; he only held his son closer to him.—So they sat when the door opened and Clarissa entered. They both heard her—neither moved. Each seemed to feel a comfort in knowing that the other suffered too.
There was someone with her,—Mrs. Millard,—and they went directly by the room where father and son were sitting. They strained their ears to hear if she inquired for them, but were unrewarded. Her voice sounded cheerful to them. They instinctively clung closer to each other, and neither spoke. The voices grew fainter and fainter, and finally died away altogether, and left them sitting there,—miserable, unhappy and forgotten.
William bowed his head over his son until their faces touched; he thought he had known misery before, but as he felt the boy's suffering by the deep drawn sighs which were almost sobs, he realized that only now had he touched the bitter cup. Jealousy was no factor in his sufferings now, and no one could ever know what consolation there was for him in those clinging arms and the companionship of his boy. He knew they made him a better man, and resolved to do for him what he could not do for himself. That close embrace seemed to feed his hungry heart, and after a while Augustus slept. William rejoiced. Still he preferred to hold him rather than be alone with his sorrow.
He tried to think where he had failed to win Clarissa's love. Not only he had failed, but his boy also, who had previously been the center of her interest. Neither of them was now necessary to her happiness. What a void! Who could compass it?—He felt a touch upon his shoulder, and before he could bring his mind to realize her actual presence, Clarissa's arms were encircling them both, and her kisses, warm and fervent, were upon his lips. As he looked up, her eyes gleamed bright and tenderly into his, and his first thought was, "I wish Augustus could see her."
He knew the boy's heart was as hungry as his own, and that Clarissa, the old loving Clarissa, was before him. He removed one arm from Augustus, placing it tenderly and closely about her, and drawing Clarissa nearer said, "Kiss him."