“Ah, I’d almost forgotten it. I heard there was a child. Where is he?—what is he?—how is he?—can’t you speak, man?”
“He is beside you now, madam,” said the captain, quietly.
She twisted Comethup round, and dropped her stick with a clatter, and took him by both shoulders. Comethup almost felt that the closed eyes could see him, so closely did she hold him for a moment and so still did she sit. Then, in the same abrupt fashion as before, she cried: “Well, can’t you speak? What’s your name, boy?”
“Comethup Willis,” replied the boy.
She dropped her hands with startling suddenness from his shoulders and got up, and spread the hands out before her. She was shaking and trembling violently, and the corners of her mouth were twitching. “Who spoke?” she asked, and her voice had fallen almost to a whisper. “Whose voice was that?”
The captain wonderingly replied that it was the boy who had spoken. She passed her hand across her forehead once or twice, still trembling a little; it seemed as though she were trying to recall some old remembrance, to bring back something which had long since slipped away from her. Presently she sighed, then laughed nervously, and then frowned. “Give me my stick there,” she said.
Comethup picked up the stick and put it into her hand. She closed her own hand over his and detained him, felt for her chair with her foot, and sat down again.
“I am sorry, ma’am, if I frightened you,” said Comethup politely.
“No, you didn’t frighten me; it wasn’t that. I—I like to hear you speak. You never saw your mother, did you?” she asked abruptly.
“No,” replied Comethup. “She died when I was born.”