"Well, my dear little fellow, and where is mamma?"
"Not here—not here," said the boy, looking around; "but I'm so glad you've come back!"
Isabella was gone out, doubtless. I rang the bell. I did not observe Mrs. Martin, the housekeeper, enter the room,—I was still caressing the child.
"Ha! Mrs. Martin—But what's the matter? You look ill.—Where is Mrs. Saville?"
The woman spoke not, but trembled violently, and turned very pale. I motioned her to take a seat. She did so.
"My dear madam, you alarm me," said I. "Is anything wrong—your mistress——"
Tears were streaming down the woman's face, as she arose suddenly, and with her hands clasped before her she came towards me.
"Oh, sir! bear it like a man," she cried, weeping bitterly;—"do bear it like a man, sir! That I should live to tell you this!—I, who have carried you in these arms, and have prayed a thousand times for your happiness when I should be dead and gone!"
She paused. Perhaps my face revealed the sickness of heart which at that moment overcame me. I could not rise from my seat; I could not lift the child from my knee, as he lay upon my bosom with his head pressed against my heart.
"Merciful Heaven!—Isabella is ill—she is dying!—at once, at once tell me——"