“Miss Letty!”
She started a little, turned her head, and strove to smile and speak, but could not. Violet, alarmed, sprang to her side.
“Darling Miss Letty! What has happened?—What is the matter?”
A deep sigh broke from Miss Letty’s lips. She trembled a little.
“Nothing, dear! Nothing! I was only just thinking—of Boy!”
“Were you?” And Violet’s face grew more serious. Something was surely wrong with Miss Letty!—she had not mentioned Boy for years. “What made you think of him just now, dearest?” And she slipped her strong young arm about the old lady’s trembling figure.
“A little circumstance reminded me,” replied Miss Letty dreamily, “of the days when he was a child. Do you see up there, Violet?”—and she pointed to a small shelf above the mantelpiece,—“Those quaint little shoes? He used to wear them—and rub them out at the toes—you will notice they are quite worn! And that toy there—that cow—it moves its head—he used to call it ‘Dunny,’ and he loved it so much that he took it everywhere about with him. Such a funny little fellow!—such a dear innocent little man—such an innocent—sweet little man!”
The last words were almost inaudible—for as she spoke them her face suddenly changed and grew ashen grey,—she reeled and would have fallen, had not Violet caught her just in time, and laid her gently back in her arm-chair in a dead faint. The house was soon in confusion,—one servant flew for the doctor, another for Major Desmond, who arrived on the scene just as his old friend was beginning to recover consciousness under the careful tending of Violet, whose trained medical knowledge stood her in good stead.
“What has upset her like this?” he asked, his kind face growing drawn and haggard as he saw the death-like pallor of his beloved Letty’s features. “How did it happen?”
“I don’t know,” answered Violet in a low tone. “I found her standing by her chair, and talking to herself about Boy!”