It was an anxious night to both him and Ned’s parents, and the morning brought little, if any, relief to them or the young sufferer.
Chester and his wife were breakfasting cozily together that morning, when Captain Raymond walked in upon them unannounced.
“Father!” cried Lucilla, springing up and running to him. “Good morning. I’m so glad to see you. But—oh, father, what is the matter? You look real ill.”
As she spoke she held up her face for the usual morning kiss.
He gave it with affection, then said in moved tones:
“Your little brother is very, very ill. Harold and we have been up with him all night. He is no better yet, but we do not give up hope.”
“Oh, I am so, so sorry!” she sighed, tears filling her eyes. “He is such a dear little fellow, and has always been so healthy that I have hardly thought of sickness in connection with him.”
Chester had left his seat at the table and was standing with them now.
“Do not despair, captain,” he said with feeling; “all is not lost that is in danger, and we will all pray for his recovery, if consistent with the Lord’s will.”
“Yes, the effectual, fervent prayer of the righteous man availeth much, and the Lord will spare our dear one if He sees best,” returned the captain feelingly.