'I think it would be better not to mention your name to him to-night.'
Then she threw herself back on the couch in a hysterical outburst.
Michael thought it useless to stay with her. He found Biddy outside as usual, and sent her in to do her best for her mistress; and then he went up to Cyril's room. He found him sitting on the edge of his bed; the window was wide open, and the rain was driving in, and had already wetted the carpet; a candle someone had lighted was guttering in the draught. Michael closed the window, and then he looked at the fireplace. There was plenty of fuel at hand. Cyril often worked in his own room, and now and then his mother's care had provided him with a fire. The room felt cold and damp. There were matches at hand, and Michael had no scruple in lighting a fire now; the crackle of wood seemed to rouse Cyril.
'Why do you do that? there is no need,' he said irritably.
'Pardon me, there is every need. Do you know your coat is wet, Blake? You must change it at once.'
But Cyril only gave an impatient shrug.
'Will you let me see you change it before I go?' he persisted, and he actually had his way, perhaps because Cyril was anxious to get rid of him. 'Now I am going; I only want to say one word, Blake: you will be safe to-night, your mother will not come near you.' Then a look of relief crossed Cyril's wan face. 'You shall, at least, have peace for a few hours. If I can help you in any way, you have only to speak. Will you remember that?'
'Thank you.'
'I mean it. There, that is all I have got to say. God bless you!' and as he grasped Cyril's hand there was a faint response.
Michael crept down as softly as he could. As he passed the drawing-room door he could hear Mrs. Blake's hysterical sobs, and Biddy soothing her. 'The Nemesis has come,' he said to himself; and then he went into the lower room, where he found Mollie and Kester reading over the fire.