“But I am sure it would do me no harm, father; you don’t know how much heat I can bear. I believe I am better sometimes in hot weather. And oh! I don’t believe I could live in England by myself.”
He gave a very weary sigh, and leant his head heavily on his mother. Presently he felt a tear on his forehead, and he knew that she must be crying.
“My own darling little mamma,” said Arthur, “I love you with my whole heart. Oh, you don’t know how very much I love you!” and he gave a deep, weary sigh.
She put her arm round him, and pressed him very closely to her heart; and he felt as if he were a tired little baby, and that it was very nice to have his mother’s arm around him. By and by he began crying; not with a hard, passionate feeling, but in a weak, weary way, the tears flowing down one after another over his mother’s hands.
“My dear child,” said Mr. Vivyan, as the time came nearer for Arthur to go to bed, “you don’t know what it is to your mother and to me to leave you; but we hope you will be happy by and by, for your aunt will be very kind to you, and will love you very much. She lives in a very nice part of the country. You may be sure, Arthur, we should be quite certain that every one would be kind to you.”
“Do you mean that I am to live with some other person?” asked Arthur listlessly.
“Yes, with my sister; that is, your aunt.”
It did not seem to matter very much to Arthur just then where he was going, or what was to become of him. He knew his father and mother were going away, and that he was to be left all alone, quite alone it seemed to him, and a very desolate, forlorn feeling fell over his heart, and seemed to make him feel numbed and heavy.
“Good night, my own dear mother,” said Arthur, as he took his candle. He was not crying, and there was almost a little wan smile on his face as he said it, making him look very different from the bright, joyous boy who generally threw his arms around her neck with an embrace, which was most emphatic as well as affectionate. He did not know how her heart was aching for him, and he knew still less of the pain his father felt, but could not show.
As Arthur sunk on his knees that night by the side of his little bed where the firelight was brightening and glowing, a deep sob came up from the very depths of his heart; and when he tried to pray, all he could say was, “O God, take care of me; for there is nobody else.”