“Yes; but we wanted Arthur Vivyan to play. Boys are twice the fun of girls.”
“But, you know, he came on purpose to see Edgar; and don’t you remember how very, very ill, Edgar is, Harold?” said his sister gravely.
Harold let go his grasp of the door, and Arthur and his new little friend found themselves safely outside.
“Now,” said Minnie, as they stood on the landing at the top of the stairs, “you stop here, and then I will come back in a minute.”
She opened the door very cautiously, and looked in for a moment; then Arthur saw her go inside and shut the door. It was several minutes before she came back.
“I told him,” she said. “Oh, I hope I did not do him any harm. He was so very glad.”
“Why,” said Arthur, “I should think that would be a good thing.”
“But he is so ill, you know. I think you had better go in now. Oh,” she said, just as she was turning away, “if you think him looking very different from what he was last summer, don’t you think you had better not seem surprised? I know my mother never likes people to say anything about her looks.”
“Very well,” said Arthur.
It was only the firelight that brightened Edgar’s room, and it danced and sparkled around, and gave quite light enough for Arthur to see every thing distinctly. The room felt very warm and comfortable as he went in, and the sound of Edgar’s quick, hard breathing was very plain. Arthur drew very quietly near the bedside. Little Minnie’s caution was well given; for it needed an effort on his part to be quiet and composed, as he saw the change in his friend; and he had to try very hard to keep the tears from coming to his eyes. Edgar was lying so very still and quiet; his cheeks were white and sunken, and his eyes looked large, and dark, and shining; but there was a much happier look in them than in the old times when they used to talk together.