Part 9 (1/2)
In an instant Milly's gravity disappeared, and a little time afterwards she was laughing gleefully as she was being trotted round the stable-yard on a large bay mare; but she said to her nurse when she came in,--
”Major Lovell is very nice, but very funny, and I can't always understand his talk, he says such difficult things.”
CHAPTER VIII.
”HE AROSE AND CAME TO HIS FATHER.”
Major Lovell stayed a week, and Sir Edward seemed the better for his company, as far as his bodily health was concerned. But at heart he was very wretched, and his cousin's influence was not the sort to help him.
”Now, old chap, make haste and get well, and don't moon over yourself and your feelings. And come down to our place for Christmas, won't you?
You're getting quite in the blues by being so much alone.”
These were Major Lovell's parting words, and Sir Edward responded,--
”No, thanks; I prefer being at home this Christmas. Why, I doubt if I shall leave my room by that time; I am as weak as a baby.”
The week before Christmas Sir Edward was in an easy chair in the library, and, though still an invalid, was now making rapid progress towards recovery. He was conning over an article he had just written, before a blazing fire, when there was a knock at the door. A frown came to his face as he turned to see who the intruder was, but disappeared at the sight of his little niece, rosy and breathless, in out-door garments, and hugging a large piece of holly in her arms.
”Uncle Edward, he has come!”
”Who has come?”
”Tommy--he really and truly has. Ford told me just as I came in with nurse. He heard it from Harris, and Harris heard it from Maxwell himself. He said, 'My lad has come, tell little missy,' and Ford says Harris said, 'He looked as if he could dance a jig for joy!' Oh, Uncle Edward, may I go to them? Nurse says it's too late, but I do want to be there. There's such a lot to be done now he has really come; and, Uncle Edward, may they kill one of the cows in the farm that are being fatted up? There's no calf, I'm afraid. May they? And may I go and tell them so? You will let me go, won't you?”
[Ill.u.s.tration: HUGGING A LARGE PIECE OF HOLLY IN HER ARMS.]
”Most certainly not; it is much too late in the afternoon for you to be going down there. It is getting quite dark, and as to one of my cattle being disposed of in that way, I should not dream of allowing it for one moment.”
Milly's eyes filled with tears, which she vainly tried to restrain. When her uncle spoke to her in that tone she knew it was useless to remonstrate.
”They'll be having the feast without me,” she said, with a little sob in her voice. ”Mrs. Maxwell promised me I should be there when they had it, and I'm longing to see Tommy.”
”Then if Mrs. Maxwell promised you that, she will put off her feast till to-morrow,” said Sir Edward in a softer tone. ”And now be a sensible little woman, and wait patiently till the time comes. You may be sure his parents will like to have him to themselves the first night. Run away now; I don't want to be disturbed.”
Poor little Milly crept out of the room feeling very crestfallen, and a short time after was lying on the hearth-rug before the nursery fire, her arms wound round Fritz's neck, confiding to him the whole story, and comforting herself by conjecturing how and where the meeting had taken place. Her little mind was so full of the subject that it was long before nurse could get her to sleep that night. Her last words before she dropped off were,--
”I wonder who will do the music and dancing!”
The next morning, the instant her breakfast was over, Milly obtained nurse's permission to go down to the keeper's cottage under charge of Sarah, the nursery maid. She was away the whole morning, and about one o'clock a message came from Mrs. Maxwell to ask if she might stay to dinner with them. So that it was not till nearly four in the afternoon that she was brought up to the house, and then, flushed and excited, she poured into her nurse's ear a long account of all that she had been hearing and doing.
”Now, come, my dear, you mustn't talk forever,” was nurse's remonstrance at last; ”Sir Edward told me I could send you to him for a little when you came in, and I must make you tidy first.”
It was quite dusk when Milly entered the library, but the bright firelight showed her the figure of her uncle leaning back in his easy chair, and indulging in a reverie.
”Well,” he said, looking round, ”where have you been all day? Down at Maxwell's, I suppose?”
”Yes,” said Milly, sedately; ”and I'll tell you all about it, if you like. May I make myself comfortable first?”