'Indeed you have. But you're getting better every day. Now, you must not talk any more. Try to sleep.'
When Estelle next awoke it seemed to be night. A candle, shaded by an open book, was burning in one corner of a low room, a fire of logs smouldered on the hearthstone, and in the light they gave she could see the woman asleep in an old-fashioned armchair, which had head-rests on each side of its upright back. She looked very tired, Estelle thought. There were deep shadows on her face, and the flickering firelight gave it a very sad expression. Estelle wondered why she did not go to bed instead of sitting up in a chair, wrapped in a blanket. Her eyes wandered from the woman, round the room. She could not imagine where she was. Never in her life had she seen such a room. It was very low, the black ceiling making it appear even lower than it actually was. The window was merely a square hole, without curtain or blind. The furniture was scanty—indeed, she could see nothing but a cupboard and a table with a basin and jug on it. The walls were black and grey, like rock, and a thick curtain hung over what might be the door.
Staring at this curtain in puzzled astonishment, Estelle saw it move and sway. A man entered the room with the noiseless tread of a sailor. He was so very tall, with shoulders so broad, that he seemed to till the little room; his head almost touched the ceiling. A neatly trimmed sailor's beard of dark hair gave him a fierce aspect, but he did not appear to be really fierce, for he bent very tenderly over the sleeping woman without rousing her. Estelle watched him with great curiosity. What did he want there? To her dismay, he soon turned round, and, approaching the bed, looked down at her. Seeing she was awake, he put his finger to his lips for silence; then slipping away in the same noiseless fashion, he quickly brought her some warm milk, which he gave her most deftly.
'Poor Mother's quite worn out,' he whispered. 'We will let her have her sleep out. Do you want anything more? Shall I move you?'
Estelle smiled, but shook her head. She thought he would leave the room when he found there was no more to be done, but he lay down at full length before the fire, after putting on an extra log or two. Once more silence reigned, and Estelle fell asleep.
But though she was able to rouse herself a little now and then, she lay for the greater part of the day in a dreamy state, often dropping asleep, and having to be coaxed to take the necessary nourishment. Very white and frail she looked, as if it would not take much of a puff to blow her away. Nevertheless, each day brought an increase of appetite and strength, and each day she grew fonder of her careful, tender nurse, as well as of Mrs. Wright's giant son. As Estelle grew stronger, she began to notice how the two loved each other with no ordinary love. 'Her Jack' was everything to his mother; yet Estelle, listening in the dreamy, half-conscious way produced by extreme weakness, was sure she heard a sigh sometimes when Mrs. Wright was speaking of him. Jack's manner, too, often made Estelle think he had hurt his mother in some way, and was trying his best to make up to her for it by love and devotion.
(Continued on page [198].)