Then Mary burst into a sad fit of crying again. “Oh Leigh! Oh Artie!” she said. “Does you think Baby Dolly’s going to die?”
Leigh was very pale, and his eyes were still swollen and red, but he had made up his mind not to cry any more. He felt he was so much more to blame than the others that he wanted to try to comfort them.
“I hope God will make her better,” he said in a very low voice. “Please try not to cry, Mary dear. It makes me so very miserable. Let us go home now and wait quietly in the study till Mr Wiseman comes to tell us how baby is.”
Mary slipped her hand into Leigh’s, and choked down her tears.
“I’ll try not to cry,” she said. “But I can’t help thinking about if we have to be all alone with Emma, and she’ll be so c’oss. Do you think, p’raps, we won’t see mamma for a lot of days, Leigh?”
Leigh could only say he did not know, but he squeezed Mary’s hand tight.
“I’ll not let Emma be cross to you, Mary dear,” he said. “I’ll try to be very good to you, for it’s all my fault.”
Artie took Mary’s other hand, and they all three went back to the house. The study was just as they had left it—there was no sign of Emma, which they were very glad of. They felt chilly and tired, though they had walked such a little way, and they were glad all to creep round the fire again, and sit there waiting—oh so very, very anxiously, till they heard Mr Wiseman coming. For Leigh had told him they would be in the study.
It seemed a long time.
“I wonder if he’s never coming,” said Mary, more than once.