“Very queer,” answered Lord Lamerton, and signed to the nurse to leave the room. His face looked grave, and he held the little boy to his heart, and kissed his forehead with lips that somewhat quivered.
“Then, papa, the carriage stopped at the entrance, and I could see through the window panes to the gravel with the moon on it, on the other side, and there was no one at all in the coach. It was quite, quite empty.”
“Did you not think it was Dr. Blewett come to see you, my little man?”
“No, papa, I did not think anything about whose coach it was. But when it remained at the door, and no one got out, I saw it must be staying for some one to enter it.”
“And did any one come out of the house?”
Then the little boy began to sob again, and cling round his father’s neck, and kiss him.
“Well, my dear Giles?”
“Oh, papa!—you will not go away!—I saw you come out of the door, and you went away in the coach—”
“I!” Lord Lamerton drew a sigh of relief. The dream of the dear little fellow, associated with his illness, had produced an uneasy effect on his father’s mind—he feared it might portend the loss of the boy, but if the carriage waited only for himself—!
“That, papa, was why I cried, and was frightened. You will not go! you must not go!” The child trembled, clasping his father, and rubbing his wet cheek against his father’s face.