"Oh the poor missis," she said. "She's had to go to bed. The pains in her ankles and knees got so bad—I'm afeared she's going to be really very ill."
Gratian ran past her into his mother's room.
"Don't be frightened," Mrs. Conyfer said at once. "It's only that my rheumatism is very bad to-day. I'll be better in the morning, dear. I must be well with you going away so soon."
And when the farmer came in she met him with the same cheerful tone, though it was evident she was suffering severely.
But Gratian sat by her bedside all the evening, doing all he could. He was grave and silent, for the thought was deep in his heart—
"I can't go away—I can't and I mustn't if mother is going to be really ill. Poor mother! I'm sure my godmothers wouldn't think I should."