Bertie had roused again. "Where's Missy? I want Missy?" he said, feebly.
The cry went like a sharp knife through the mother's heart. She brought him toys and pictures, telling him the history of each, and quieting him as well as she could. At first he was amused and interested, but he soon wearied, and said again, "I want Missy."
"Is it Alice he is crying for?" whispered Anne, as Amy moved away, and sent Hannah to take her place by the bed.
"No, not Alice. Oh! Anne, he will break my heart. I had so hoped he had forgotten her."
Again the little fretful cry sounded. "Tell Missy to come."
"I must go," said Amy, "there is no help for it."
Frances had thrown herself despairingly on the bed, shutting out Jane, her maid, who had tried to comfort her, and even Mrs. Linchmore. At one moment she would not believe there was no hope—would not,—the next she wept and moaned with the certainty that there could be none; as she saw Amy enter, she covered her face with her hands, and groaned aloud; thinking there was but one reason the mother could have in coming to see her, and that was to upbraid her for having caused the death of her boy.
"Miss Strickland I said you should not see my boy, but I cannot refuse his,—" Amy faltered,—"perhaps last request. He is asking for you. Will you come?"
"Come!" exclaimed Frances, springing from the bed, and tossing back the hair from off her throbbing temples, "do you think I could refuse him—you, anything? and oh! forgive me, Mrs. Vavasour, for having caused you all this utter misery."
"It is a fearful punishment," said Amy, looking at the ravages grief and remorse had made in her beautiful face.