Part 34 (1/2)

Marjorie had forgotten all about her fatigue now. She took Basil's hand, and in a silent ecstasy which was part of her emotional little nature, went with him into the big bedroom where Mr. Wilton slept.

They could see splendidly all over the park from here, and as they looked, Marjorie poured out a good lot of her fervent little soul to her favorite brother.

Basil was never a boy to say much about his feelings. Once he stooped down and kissed Marjorie.

”What a romantic little puss you are,” he said. Then he told her she must be sleepy, and sent her away to bed.

”But you won't stay in this great lonely room by yourself, Basil.”

”This room lonely?” said Basil with a smile. ”I used to sit here with mother. And her picture hangs there. I'm glad of the chance of having a good look at it in the moonlight.”

”Basil, do let me stay and look at it with you.”

”No, Maggie. I don't want to be unkind. You are a dear little thing, but it would help me best to be alone with mother's picture. You don't misunderstand me, Mag?”

”Of course I don't. Good-night, _dear_ Basil; good-night, darling.

This talk with you has been as good as two or three days at Glendower.”

Marjorie ran off, and Basil was alone. He went and knelt down under the girlish picture of his dead mother. The moonbeams were s.h.i.+ning full into the room, and they touched his dark head, and lit up his young mother's fair face. Basil said no words aloud. He knelt quietly for a moment; then he rose, and with tears in his eyes gave another long look at the picture as he turned to leave the room.

CHAPTER XXI.

SUSY'S FEVERISH DESIRE.

Hudson was waiting for Marjorie when she came back to her bedroom.

”I don't know what to do, miss,” she said to the little girl. ”I'm aware it's Mr. Wilton's orders, but still, what am I to do with the poor woman? She's crying fit to break her heart, and it do seem cruel not to sympathize with her. It's a shame to worry you, Miss Maggie, but you're a very understanding little lady for your years.”

”Well, Hudson, I'll help if I can,” said Marjorie. ”Who's the poor woman? and what is she crying about?”

”It's Mrs. Collins, my dear. It seems that Susy isn't going on at all satisfactory. The doctor says she has a kind of low fever, no way catching, but very bad for the poor little girl. Susy cries quite piteous to see Miss Ermengarde, and it does seem cruel that under the circ.u.mstances there should be distinctions in rank.”

”But Ermie is away,” said Marjorie. ”Susy can't see her, however much she wishes to. Did you tell Mrs. Collins that?”

”I did, dear, and she said she daren't go back to the poor child with a message of that sort; that she was so fretted, and contrary, and feverish as it was, that she quite feared what would happen.”

”But what's to be done, Hudson? Ermie really is far away, and nothing, nothing that we can do can bring her back to-night.”

”I know, Miss Maggie, but poor women with only children are apt to be unreasonable, and Mrs. Collins does go on most bitter. She says she knows there's a secret on Susy's mind, and she feels certain sure that the child will never take a turn for the better until she can let out what's preying on her. Mrs. Collins is certain that Miss Ermengarde knows something about Susy, and that they have had some words between them, and she says there'll be no rest for the poor little creature until she and Miss Ermie have made whatever is wrong straight.”

Marjorie stood looking very thoughtful.

”It's late, my dear, and you're tired,” said the servant. ”It seems a shame to worry you. Hadn't you better go to bed?”

”Oh, don't, Hudson,” said Marjorie. ”What does it matter about my going to bed, or even if I am a bit tired? I'm thinking about poor Susy, and about Ermie. I've got a thought--I wonder--Hudson, I wish father hadn't said so firmly that Ermengarde was not to see Susy Collins.”

”Well, missy, my master is in the right. Little ladies do themselves no good when they make friends and equals of children like Susy. They do themselves no good, and they do still more harm to the poor children, whose heads get filled up with vain thoughts. But that's neither here nor there, Miss Maggie, in the present case. Illness alters everything, and levels all ranks, and if Miss Ermengarde was at home, she ought to go and see Susy, and that without a minute's delay, and your good father would be the very first to tell her so, Miss Maggie.”