CHAPTER VI.

DEPOSED.

The little sound that is as common as silence--a familiar step, a murmured word, an opening door--one hears it a thousand times with contented indifference, as one hears the singing of the tea-kettle. But one day it falls on the heart as well as on the ear, like the stroke of a swift sword. It seems exactly the same, but one knows at once that it is not the same. In the twentieth part of a second one recognises the voice of a dire calamity--especially if one is a mother, and has heard it before.

Tom came into the house by way of the kitchen, and I heard him say to Jane, in quite a quiet tone, "Where's Mrs. Braye?" That was all. I sprang from my chair, wild with terror, dropping my needlework to the floor. For I knew--I knew--I didn't want to be told--that something had happened to Harry. My boy! my boy! I had been scolding him, only an hour ago, for making love to Lily's governess--a minx, whom I had just requested to find another situation--and he had slammed the door almost in my face on leaving me. I had been longing for Tom to come in, that I might tell him all about it, and have a little cry on his shoulder, and my dignity and authority in the house supported; but now that he was here my tongue was paralysed. And I had no grievance, but an immeasurable remorse.

"Don't be frightened," said my husband, trembling, in a would-be off-hand voice, "it's nothing very serious--just a bad shaking--I told him that new mare of his wasn't to be trusted, and there was a nasty stone just where she threw him. He's stunned a bit, that's all--no bones broken. I have sent for the doctor. Now look here, Polly----"

He opened his arms across the doorway, but I broke through them furiously. Did he remember the night when little Bobby shot himself, trying to get an opossum skin for his mother's birthday? I was not kept back then. We ran together, hand in hand, to meet our common woe, and I was first at the spot, and it was on my breast that he lay to breathe his last. Why not now, when a worse thing had befallen me? No, I don't mean that; nothing could be worse--except that every year your child is with you adds innumerable fresh strands to the rope of woven heart-strings already binding you to him, and thus makes more to bleed and ache when the wrench comes. And Harry was twenty-three--twenty-three, and over six feet, and the handsomest young fellow in the whole country! I flew full speed to find him, and see what they were doing to him. It was my mother's right, which a dozen fathers should not deprive me of.

At the garden gate I met the procession coming in. They carried him carefully on a mattress, over saplings roped together. A little rabble of people followed, one of them leading the fiend that had done the mischief, a vicious, half-broken, buck-jumping brute that had worried us for a long time, although Harry always trusted his own fine horsemanship to get the better of her tantrums. And rightly, too. If he had not been in a bad temper, poor darling, and doubtless running risks for the perverse satisfaction of doing so, because of the mood he was in, nothing in the shape of a horse could have thrown him. He was notoriously the best rider of the day--at any rate, of our neighbourhood.

I slammed the gate to shut out everybody, and the bearers lowered his litter, and I bent over him. He did not know me. When I leaned down to listen if he breathed, I saw a little bubble of blood oozing from his mouth; then I knew that he was more than stunned--that it was worse even than broken bones. I left off crying, and became quite calm. I had to.

We were sliding him from the mattress to his bed when Dr. Juke arrived, and he made us stop and let him do it; for, though my poor lad seemed unconscious, he panted and grunted in a way that showed we were hurting him, with all our care. The doctor felt and lifted his limbs, and said they were all right, and then undressed him as he lay; I got my large cutting-out scissors, and we hacked his good clothes to pieces--but that didn't matter--until we left him only his shirt and woollen singlet, and even those we cut. And just as we were finishing making him comfortable, as we hoped, he came to and looked at us. My precious boy! His breathing was short and fluttery, and he seemed too full of pain to speak, except in gasps.

"Oh, my side! my side!"

He wailed like a child--a sound to drive a mother mad.

Dr. Juke said, "Ah, I thought so." And, having made a little examination, he reported a fracture of the ribs, with some injury to the lung. He whispered something to Tom, and then told me I had better send for a trained nurse, and said it would be as well to get a good surgeon from town also, so as to be on the safe side.

I was willing enough to send for a dozen surgeons--though I had perfect faith in Juke, who was a clever young man, newly out from home and up to date, an enthusiast in his profession--but I could not bear the thought of a professional nurse. I knew those women--how they take possession of your nearest and dearest, and treat even an old mother as if she were a mere outsider and an utter ignoramus. I protested that I could do all that was necessary--that no one could possibly take the care of him that I should. Was it likely?

"But he will probably want nursing all day and all night for weeks," said Dr. Juke. "You could not do that unaided. You would break down, and then where would he be?"

"I will telegraph for my daughter," I rejoined. Phyllis was away at the time, visiting.

"Miss Braye is too young and inexperienced," he objected, with the airs of a grandfather. "It would not be fair to her. She is better where she is, out of all the trouble. However, there is no need to decide immediately. We'll see the night through first. All we can do for the present is to make him as easy as possible and watch symptoms. The _most_ important thing is not to meddle with him."

This seemed a hard saying, and at first I could not credit it. It was terrible to see nothing done, when he evidently suffered so--more and more as the first shock passed and the dreadful fever rose and rose; but while the lung was letting blood and air into the cavity of the chest, which could not be reached to stop the leak, handling of any sort only aggravated the mischief. The doctor explained this to me when I was impatient, and I had to own that he was probably right. He asked me to see about drinks and nourishment, and when I left the room to do so I had a mind to seize the opportunity for a few frantic tears in private, impelled by the pent-up anguish I could not otherwise relieve.

But outside the door--Harry's door--I came upon Miss Blount. The little fool was crying herself--as if it were any concern of hers!--and looked a perfect sight with her swelled nose and sodden cheeks. Somehow I couldn't stand it, on the top of all the rest--I just took her by the arm and marched her back to the schoolroom. I hope I was not rough or unkind--I really don't think I was--but to see her you would have thought she was a ridiculous little martyr being led to the stake. I said to her--quite quietly, without making any fuss--"My dear, while you remain in this house--until the notice I have been compelled by our contract to give you has expired--oblige me by keeping in your proper place and confining your attention to your proper business."

Just as if I had not spoken--and I am sure she never heard a word--she turned on me at the schoolroom door and clutched at my dress. With both hands she held on to me, so that I really could not get away from her.

"Oh, tell me, tell me," she cried, with a lackadaisical whine, as if we were playing melodrama at a cheap theatre, "_What_ does the doctor say? Is he, oh, _is_ he going to die?"

I replied--cuttingly, I am afraid--that the doctor seemed perfectly well. There was no sign of dying, that I could see, about him.

Then she said "Harry!" Yes, to my very face! As if she had a right to call my son by his christian name. I was greatly exasperated; any mother would have been--especially after what had happened.

I answered, "_Mr_. Harry _is_ going to die--_thanks to you_, Miss Blount."

I truly believed that he was, and I honestly thought that it was her doing; because if she had not misconducted herself, and tempted him to do so, I should not have had to scold him, and he would not have gone out in a rage, to ride a young horse recklessly. Still, it has occurred to me since that perhaps I was not quite just to her, poor thing.

Oh, what a night that was! Temperature 103 degrees, and a short, agonising cough catching the hurt side, which he was obliged to lie on, because the other lung had to do the work of both. We padded him with the softest pillows in the house, and tried ice, and sedatives--everything we could think of; but we could not soothe the struggling chest, which was the only way to stop the inward bleeding. And he kept up a sort of grinding moan, like a long "u" in French--worse than shrieks. It was too, too cruel! I wonder my hair did not turn white.

Next day we got the surgeon from town; the day after, the nurse. But I came to an understanding with her before she set foot in Harry's room. I bade her remember that he was my son, and that a mother could not consent to be superseded. She asked if she were to be allowed to carry out the doctor's orders, and when I said "Yes, of course," she seemed satisfied. She was a good creature. After all, I don't know what we should have done without her. There is a limit to one's strength, and though Phyllis was a great help outside the sick-room, we did not think it right--Dr. Juke did not think it right--to let her be much in it.

She came home as soon as she heard what had happened, in spite of his advice. I went downstairs one day, and found her sitting in the deserted drawing-room, with her hat on, talking to him; I thought he had gone an hour ago, but he had seen her arriving, and stayed to break things to her and give her all the particulars, before she met the rest of us. He was somewhat inclined to be officious, though he meant well.

I exclaimed in astonishment at the sight of her.

"It was no good, mother; I had to come," said she, rising quickly and taking out her hat-pins. "And I did not warn you, for fear you should prevent me. Don't scold me--Dr. Juke doesn't. I want to help, and he says I can be a lot of use."

"Invaluable," said Juke, in a young man's gushing manner. "It was only for your own sake, Miss Phyllis, that I wished you out of it."

She is not Miss Phyllis, by the way, but Miss Braye.

"I mean to be everybody's right hand," she continued, trying to cheer me. "We are not going to let you kill yourself any more, mother dear. And we are not going to let Harry die, either--are we, Dr. Juke?"

"No, no," replied the doctor, with an exaggerated air of reassuring me, as if pacifying a timid child. "We'll pull him through amongst us. The sight of your face"--it was not my face he meant--"will be the best medicine he can have. Only, remember, you must not talk to him."

"I know--I know. You will find that I shall be discretion itself."

She was quite gay. I could see that she did not yet realise the situation, poor child, whatever Juke had told her about it. But when I took her upstairs, and showed her the changed face in the sick-room, she was shocked enough. She and her brother were devoted to each other. They used to go to their little parties and entertainments together, and everybody used to remark upon their looks and say what a handsome pair they made. He thought--that is, he used to think, before other girls spoiled him--that there was no one like his sister Phyllis, and she thought the same of him. Nevertheless, when I told her of his conduct with Miss Blount, she was quite indignant. She said she would never have believed it of him. At the same time she was firmly convinced, as I was, that Miss Blount had done the love-making and led him on. What a comfort it was to have my dear girl to talk to and confide in! She was not only a lovely young creature--though I say it--but had the sense of an old woman. Lily was quite different. But then Lily was a child--barely seventeen--and she had an absurd infatuation for her governess, such as you often see in a raw schoolgirl. It was a stupid mistake on my part to engage a person of twenty-two to teach her--I saw it now; and I think it a still greater mistake to confer University degrees on such young women. You seem to expect them to be above the imbecilities of ordinary girls, and they are not a bit.

Well, we shut them up together in a separate part of the house, giving them their meals in the schoolroom. We did not want Lily to be losing the education we were paying so much for, and Tom and I just took our food as we could get it. We had no heart to sit down to table. Sometimes he slept for a little, and sometimes I, but one or the other of us was always on guard; while Phyllis prepared the iced milk and soda, and waited on the nurse and doctor. Certainly the doctor was most devoted; he could not have done more for his patient if he had been his own brother.

I am sure it was the opinion of his medical colleague that Harry could never pull through. He said, in so many words, that the case was as grave as possible, owing chiefly, as I understood, to the accumulation of fluid in the chest, which could not be mechanically dealt with. Nevertheless, the dear boy rallied a little, and then a little more--the fever keeping down in the daytime, and not running quite so high at night--until it really seemed that we might begin to hope. He was such a splendid young fellow, and had such a magnificent constitution! But for that I am convinced he could not have survived an hour. One afternoon he was sleeping so comfortably that they all insisted on my going out for some fresh air. Tom took me for a walk round the garden, and we planned what we would do for our beloved one when he got well--how we would go for a little travel to amuse and cheer him, to recruit his strength and distract his mind from nonsense.

When I returned, I found that he had awakened from his sleep, calm and refreshed; that he had asked to see his sister Lily, and--that that fool of a nurse had allowed it! Oh, I could have shaken her! As it was, I gave her a talking to that she sulked over for a week. Lily, she said, had only remained with him ten minutes--as if one minute wouldn't have been enough to undo all our work! _Idiot!_ And to call herself a trained nurse, too!

As soon as I approached his bed I saw the difference. Not only had he been doing so well, he had been so nice to me, so loving and gentle, as if feeling that all was right between us. Now he was flushed--I knew his temperature had gone up again--and he looked at me as if I were his enemy instead of his mother.

"Is it true," he said, "that you have given Miss Blount notice?"

I did not know what to say. Seeing the absolute necessity for keeping him quiet, I tried to put the question aside. But he would have an answer.

"Dearest," I pleaded, "I am doing for the best. And you will be the first to acknowledge it when you are yourself again. It is for her sake," I added, though I'm sure I don't know why I said that.

He continued to look at me as if I were a graven image, insensible to the tears that filled my eyes. And he looked _so_ handsome--even in this wreck of health--a fit husband for a queen.

"Mother," he said, in a stern way, "if you do a thing so unjust as that I will never forgive you."

Ah, Harry! Harry! And after all I had done for him--slaving night and day! After all the love and care, the heart's blood, that I had lavished on him for nearly twenty-four years!

"Unjust!" I repeated, cut to the quick. "My boy, I may have my faults--I daresay I have--nobody is perfect in this world; but my worst enemy cannot lay it to my charge that I have ever committed an injustice."

He smiled, but it was a hard smile. And the nurse came up, as bold as you please, to tell me I must be silent, as I was exciting him. _I_ exciting him! It was then I gave her that talking to.

Well, he had been getting on as satisfactorily as possible up to this point. But now, of course, he went back. His temperature was 104 degrees in the night, and he complained of pains and uneasiness, and turned against his nourishment, light and liquid as it was. When he did get a snatch of sleep, his breathing was as restless as possible. Sometimes it went fast, and sometimes it seemed to stop, and then he would suddenly give a deep snore, and a jump that hurt his side and roused him. After which he would lie still a little while, staring at the wall. His eyes were full of fever, and presently he began to talk, and we could not make out what he was saying, except that little huzzy's name--Emily. He kept saying "Emily"--no, "Emmie"--as if he thought she was in the same room. Once I fancied he called me, and when I went to him he put up his poor hands--already so thin and bleached!--and I thought he wanted to be forgiven and be friends with his mother again. But, just as I was dropping on my knees beside him to take him into my arms, he said, "Kiss me, Emmie." And, oh, in such a voice! It made me feel--but I can't describe how it made me feel.

And next day he had a shivering fit, and the day after another, with more fever than ever when they had passed off--a thirst like fire, and pain in breathing, and delirium, and everything that was bad and hopeless. Dr. Juke said it meant blood-poisoning, and that he had expected it from the first; but I did not believe it. For was he not doing beautifully up to the moment when Lily was allowed to see him and upset him with her tales? This time we sent for two doctors from Melbourne, and they and Juke were closeted together for an hour after making their examination; and, when they came out at last, they said they were agreed that our boy was in so desperate a state that nothing short of a miracle could save him.

I called the girls into my room to break it to them, and we sat on the sofa at the foot of my bed and had our cry together. I was completely broken down. So was poor Lily. She sobbed so violently that I was afraid Harry would hear her. Phyllis was more composed--she always was--and refused to despair as long as life was in him. She professed contempt for the great doctors, and pinned her faith to Juke. Juke had told her that miracles, in his profession, were constantly happening, and that for his part he did not mean to give up the fight until all was over.

"I believe, mother," said my brave girl, "that he will succeed, after all, in spite of those old fogies. He knows a lot more than they do, and he says there's no calculating the power of youth and a sound constitution in these cases. He says----"

But I was too wretched to listen to her. They were not old fogies to me--those two experienced men--and a young doctor is but a young doctor, however clever; I found it impossible to hope at this juncture. Lily was kneeling by me with her arms round my waist, quite hysterical with grief; and for the moment I felt that she was more in sympathy with me than her sister. I realised my mistake when the child suddenly sprang to her feet, hitting my chin with her head as she did so, and declared that she must go to "poor Miss Blount."

"Lily," I cried, as she was flinging out of the room in her impetuous fashion, "what are strangers at such a time as this?"

"Nothing," said Lily, in a brazen way--she would never have spoken to her mother in that tone if she had not been encouraged; "but Miss Blount is not a stranger. She loves Harry, and Harry loves her, and she's broken-hearted, and she's ill, and she's nearly out of her mind, and nobody ever says a kind word to her! Even now that he's dying, and they can't have each other, you treat her as if she were dirt. Poor, poor Emily! Let me go to her! Now that Harry's dying, she's got nobody--not a soul in this house--but me!"

Well, indeed! Who'd be a mother, if she could foresee what would come of it? To have this blow, on the top of all the rest, and at _such_ a moment! I felt quite stunned. At first I could only stare at her--I could not speak; then I said, "Go, go!" and pointed to the door. For I could bear no more.

As soon as she was gone, I turned to my faithful Phyllis, put my head on her shoulder, and sobbed like a baby.

"Oh, Phyllis," I cried, "never you get married, my dear! Never you have children, to suffer through them as I suffer!"

She was wiser than I, however. She said she didn't think it was altogether the children's fault.

I admitted it at once. "You are quite right," I said, "and I was wrong. It is not the children's fault. It's the fault of that hateful creature, who has set them both against me. First Harry, then Lily--the very one she was hired to teach her duty to! Fancy a governess, calling herself a governess, and a B.A. to boot, corrupting an innocent young girl, a mere child, with all the details of a clandestine love intrigue! What infamy! What treachery!" I was beside myself when I thought of it. Any mother would have been.

But Phyllis was not a mother, and she was but lukewarm in this matter upon which I felt so strongly. Indeed, I was half inclined to fear that she, too, had become infected by the evil influence amongst us, until I found that it was Dr. Juke who had been putting ideas into her head. Dr. Juke was undoubtedly very clever, and we were enormously indebted to him; still, I have always felt that he was too fond of giving his opinion upon things that were altogether outside his province. It appeared he had been telling Phyllis that it was very bad for Harry to have any trouble on his mind, and that it was absolutely necessary, if we would give him his full chances of recovery, to remove any that we knew of which could be removed.

"After all," said Phyllis, in a tone that showed how he had talked her over, "she's a ladylike person enough, and certainly a clever one."

"Clever, indeed," I retorted, "to have caught a man like him! And looking all the while as demure and innocent as a nun--as if butter wouldn't melt in her mouth! Oh, Phyllis, it would blight his career for ever."

"Perhaps not," she rejoined tolerantly--for she was too young to know; "but even so, I would rather have him blight his career than die."

"You speak," I cried--"you actually speak as if _I_ wanted him to die!"

Here Tom came in, and when she saw her father she got up to leave us together. I was glad indeed to have him to myself for a few minutes. We, at any rate, understood each other. He has his faults, dear fellow, and I often get impatient with him; but he loves me--he thinks the world of me--he doesn't question my judgment and criticise my conduct, as the children do. I was going to tell him about Lily, and about what Juke had said to Phyllis; but when he took me into his great, strong, kind arms, I was too overcome to utter a word. I could do nothing but weep. Nor could he. We thought how we had toiled and slaved to make our precious boy the man he was--how we had nursed him through his baby illnesses, and pinched ourselves to send him to public school and University, and been so proud of his beauty and his talents and his achievements, and looked forward with such joy to the name he would make in the world; and how we were to lose him after all, just as we were looking for the reward of our love and labours--and in this truly awful way!

Tom said it was quite certain now that he would die. Blood-poisoning had set in; there were swellings in some muscles of his body to prove it--a fatal symptom, as every one knew. It only needed to spread to an internal organ, and the machine would stop at once.

"And the sooner it's over, the better," groaned Tom, "and the poor chap's sufferings at an end. Ah, Polly, old girl, little we thought of this when he was born, and we were as vain as two peacocks over him! Do you remember how you brought him up to Sydney, because you couldn't wait till I got home--and we had him on the bridge at night when the passengers were a-bed below----"

"Oh, don't!" I wailed in agony. Remember it! Did I not remember it? And a hundred thousand heart-breaking things.

But we had to compose ourselves as best we could, and go back to our dreadful duties; he to see that the doctors had a proper lunch before they left, I to renew my watch in the sick-room--to see the last, as I supposed, of my dying boy.

On my way I came upon Jane hurrying along the passage with a basin of hot broth. Harry was not allowed animal food, so I stopped her to ask what she was doing with it.

"Taking it to Miss Blount," she replied; and I fancied she did not speak quite so respectfully as usual. "That poor young lady hardly touches her meals, and it do go to my heart to see her look so ill. I thought perhaps a drop of good soup'd tempt her."

Now I did not want to get the character--which I am the last person to deserve--of being a hard woman. I am not one of those low creatures that one reads of in novels who don't know how to treat a governess properly. To me Miss Blount was as much a lady as I was myself, and I had always made a point of considering her in anything. Besides, it was not the time for animosities. All was changed in view of Harry's approaching death. She could not injure him any more. So I took the little tray from Jane, and said to her, "Go back to your kitchen, and attend to the doctors' lunch. I will take the broth to Miss Blount, and find out what is the matter with her."

The girl was in her bedroom. When she saw me she jumped up, as scared as if I had been an ogress come to eat her; but when I first opened the door she was kneeling against her bed, as if saying her prayers. Certainly, she did look ill. She had had a very nice complexion--no doubt poor Harry had noticed it--and her eyes were good; but now her skin was like tallow, and her eyes all dark and washed out, and they had a curious empty expression in them that I did not like at all. I put the tray on the drawers and went up to her, and laid my hand on her shoulder. "My dear," I said, as kindly as I could speak, "I have brought you a little nourishing broth, that I think will do you good. And you must take it at once, while it is hot, to please me."

She did not so much as say thank you, but just stood and stared in a dazed, fixed way, like a deaf mute. So, naturally, I did not feel inclined to bother myself further about her, and I turned to go. As soon as I did that, however, she spoke to me, calling my name. Her voice had a sort of lost sound in it, as if she were talking in her sleep.

"Mrs. Braye," she said, "there's something I have been wanting to say to you."

"What is it?" I inquired.

"If Mr. Harry gets well, I will not marry him--to blight his career. I never would have injured him, and I never will. I would die sooner."

Well, it seemed rather late to think of that. Still, it showed a nice spirit, and I liked the way she spoke of him. She really was a lady, in her way, and--poor thing!--she did look the picture of misery. I am a tender-hearted woman, and I could not but feel a pang of pity for her.

"Ah, my dear," I said, "there's no question of marrying or not now! He is going fast, and nothing matters any more."

Then I kissed her--I kissed her affectionately--and bade her lie down, and not trouble about Lily's lessons; and I told her that whenever there was a change in Harry's condition I would let her know.

The change came a few days later--not suddenly, but creeping inch by inch; and it was not the change we had all anticipated. My splendid boy! Just as he had struggled and triumphed at football and cricket, so his magnificent strength fought with and overcame the poison in his blood before it could deposit itself in vital organs. It was marvellous. The very doctors, accustomed to miracles, could not believe their senses when they counted his pulse and looked at the little thermometer, and felt the places where the sore lumps had been. For weeks, I may say, we seemed to hold our breath in the maddening suspense, tantalised and intoxicated with a hope we dared not call a certainty; but at last we knew that life had conquered death, and that I was not called upon to undergo _this_ agony of motherhood a second time. Of course he was weaker than a new-born baby--a mere shadow of himself; but he was saved. When they told me, I fell on my knees, just where I stood, and cried in my wild rapture and thankfulness, "Oh, God! God! What can I do--what uttermost service or sacrifice can I offer--for all Thy goodness to me?"

They looked at me in an odd way. They all looked at me, even my boy with his hollow eyes. And Tom said, "Come here, Polly, I want to speak to you;" and took me into our room, and laid his hand on my shoulders. He stood six feet in his socks, and weighed sixteen stone, but he trembled like a child.

"Old girl," he said, "you'll have to let him have her."

"Oh," I replied, "if he wants the moon, give it to him! I don't care."

It was a figurative way of expressing my mood of joy--my longing to compensate him utterly for what he had gone through; and I don't think I ought to have been taken so literally. But, before the words were well out of my mouth, Tom made off to Harry's room, and there and then informed him that "mother had given her consent."

And he did not tell me he was going to catch me up in this way. When next I went to my boy's bedside, and he murmured, "Good old mummy!" and remarked, with that deep thrill in his voice, that it was worth while getting well, I thought he meant that it was worth while getting well to see us all so happy.

"Ay," I said, from my heart, "if you hadn't got well, it's little that would have been worth while to _me_ any more."

"Poor old mummy!" he ejaculated. And then, turning serious eyes upon my face, "You will never regret it. I can answer for that."

"You need not waste breath to tell me what I know better than I know anything," I responded, smiling.

"I mean," he said, still seriously, "about _her._"

Then I understood why he had said it was worth while to get well. She was of more consequence to him than all his own people put together.

"Her?" I queried, smoothing his hair--not letting him guess the pang I felt.

"Miss Blount. Father says you have been so good to us--that you have given us leave--that it's all right now. Look here, mother, if you only knew her----"

I stopped him, for he was getting agitated.

"If your heart is set on it, darling--by and by, I mean, when you are quite well, and have thoroughly considered the matter--don't imagine _I_ shall be the one to disappoint you and make you unhappy. I never have been a cruel mother, have I? And as for knowing Miss Blount, if I don't know her, having her constantly in the house with me, who should? Don't worry yourself about Miss Blounts or anything else till you are stronger, dearest. Put everything out of your head--think of nothing whatever--except getting well. And when you are quite well--then we'll see."

"I can't put her out of my head. I want to see her, mother."

"So you shall, dear--as soon as you are fit to see people. I will ask the doctor about it."

"Juke wouldn't object; he'd be glad. Oh, mother----!"

The nurse came up, and said she thought he had talked enough. I thought so too. His thin cheek was flushed, and his lip trembled; he was inclined to excite himself, and had not strength to spare for that just yet. I gave him his nourishment, turned his pillow, and whispered to him that, if he would sleep for a few hours, then he should have his wish.

"Honour bright?" he whispered back.

"Don't insult me," I retorted. "When did you ever know me to break a promise?"

"To-day, mother?"

"To-day--if Dr. Juke approves. Of course we must have doctor's express permission."

"All right. Give me a squirt of morphia, nurse."

"No, Master Harry. No more morphia, my dear--except maybe a time or two at night, when you _can't_ do without it."

"I can't do without it now," he said. "I've got to sleep before I can see her, and I can't sleep, of myself, until I do see her."

"There," I exclaimed, flinging out a hand. "What did I say? I _knew_ what the effect would be."

The woman--who, I found, was actually privy to the whole affair--Tom's doing, no doubt--began to give her opinion, as is the way of those nurses. "If you'll take my advice," said she, "you'll let him see her now, and sleep afterwards. It'll tire him less than fretting for her."

"And if you will be so good as to mind your own business," I replied, quietly but firmly, "I shall be infinitely obliged to you."

I had not been out of the room five minutes before Tom came to seek me, looking quite hoity-toity, as if he thought himself aboard ship again, with sailors.

"Now then, Polly," he said, "I'm not going to have any more nonsense about this. The boy is too weak to be worried. I am going to fetch Emily."

"Since when," I asked, "has it been your habit to call her Emily?"

He stared, and looked confused. "I suppose," he said, "I've caught it from Harry."

"Talking with him so much about her, when it was so necessary to keep him calm? And to that nurse woman, behind my back--as if the private concerns of our family were any concern of servants! Tom, I didn't think _you_ would ever be disloyal to me."

"I don't think I ever have been, Polly. What's more, I don't think you would ever imagine such a thing in cool blood. Come, you are not going to spoil this happy day for us all, are you? The boy has been given back to us by a miracle----"

That was enough. I flung myself into his arms.

"Forgive me! Forgive me!" I cried. "I know it is wicked of me. But you don't _know_ how I feel it, Tom!"

"Yes, I do, pet; I know exactly."

"No one but a mother _can_ know. I used to be everything to him once, and now he is only glad to get well because of her!"

"Well, it's natural. We----"

"No, we didn't. We had no mothers. But never mind--I won't be selfish. I will go and fetch her at once."

"Would you rather I went?"

"_Certainly_ not! Do you suppose I want them to go on thinking that you are their only friend, and I their implacable enemy? _I_ want to make him happy as much as ever you can do."

"That's right, old girl. If you're going to do a kind thing, do it the kindest way you know. They'll be just fit to worship you, both of 'em."

I did not ask to be worshipped, but I did want my boy to love his mother a little. I ran to him, brushing the nurse aside.

"Dearest," I whispered, "I am going to bring Emily. She shall sit with you as long and as often as you like. She shall be your wife, if you want her. I will make a daughter of her--for your sake."

I took the kiss I had so richly earned, and hurried to the schoolroom. There sat Miss Blount, still faded and tearful, but beaming with the joy that filled the house, like the sun through rain. She and Lily had been crying and rejoicing together, congratulating one another. I waved the child aside, and, taking her governess by the hand, with a "Come, dear," which I could see explained everything in a moment, led her into Harry's room.

After all, she was a lady, and a B.A. He might have done worse. But when I saw the look he turned to her when she ran like a deer to his arms--poor sticks of arms!--and how he held her, and crooned over her--oh, it was like a dagger in my breast!

Tom took me away, and tried to comfort me. He reminded me that we did the same ourselves when we were young, and that we still had each other.

"You've still got me, Polly. _I_ sha'n't desert you."

Yes, yes; of course I still had him. But----

Well, a _man_ can't understand.