Nannette was beginning to cry, “Nanny wants to go back to dear mamma and stay wis her,” but Ethel put her arms about her, saying cheerily, “There, there, little sister, don’t cry; we are going to take a nice walk out in the green fields and gather flowers under the hedge-rows for our dear papa and mamma. Won’t that be pleasant?”
“Oh yes, yes! I so glad!” cried the little one with sudden change of look and tone. “Put Nan’s hat on dus now; dis minute.”
“Yes, darling, we’ll go and get it at once; and Blanche and Harry and I will put our hats on too, and oh, such a good time as we shall have!”
At that Nannette dried her eyes and began prattling delightedly about the flowers she hoped to gather, and the birds that would be singing in the tree-tops, or flying to and fro building their nests.
Harry and Blanche were scarcely less elated, and even staid little Ethel grew blithe and gay as they passed down the village street and turned aside into the green lanes and meadows.
The house grew very quiet when the children had gone. Captain Eldon had fallen into a doze and his devoted wife sat close by his side, one thin hand fast clasped in hers, while she almost held her breath lest she should rouse him from that slumber which might prove the turning point in the long illness that had brought him to the very borders of the grave.
Mrs. Eldon was a West Indian from the island of Jamaica; and the captain, belonging to an English regiment stationed there, had won her heart, courted and married her. She was the only living child of a worthy couple, a wealthy planter and his wife, who had made no objection to their daughter’s acceptance of the gallant British officer who had made himself agreeable to them as well as to her.
He proved a kind and indulgent husband. They were a devotedly attached couple and very happy during the first eight years of their married life; then Captain Eldon’s health began to fail, the climate was pronounced most unfavorable by his medical adviser, and obtaining a furlough, he returned to his native land, taking wife and children with him; but the change had little effect; he rallied somewhat for a time, then he grew weaker and now had scarcely left his bed for weeks.
He had no near relatives living except two brothers, who had, years before, emigrated to America; he was too ill to seek old friends and acquaintances, and taking possession of a cottage advertised for rent, on the outskirts of a village and near the seashore, he, with his wife and little ones, had passed a secluded life there, seeing few visitors besides the physician who was in attendance.
Mrs. Eldon insisted on being her husband’s sole nurse and determinedly persisted in believing in his final recovery, often talking hopefully of the time when they might return to her island home on the other side of the ocean, and the fond parents who were wearying of the prolonged absence of their only child and her little ones. But to-day as she sat with her eyes riveted upon his sleeping face and noted its haggard look—so thin, wan and marked with lines of suffering—her heart misgave her as never before. Was he—the light and joy of her life—about to pass away to that bourn whence no traveller returns? Oh, the anguish of that thought! how could life ever be endured without him? Her heart almost stood still with terror and despair.