Part 17 (1/2)

She would not write, she would not see him herself: she could not. She would send a verbal message. Late as it was there was no fear of not finding him up, she knew. He had told her that he always wrote till one in the morning.

The midnight oil phrase was one he was ever using.

CHAPTER XIV

TO BEG FOR MERCY

An upward glance at the clock on the mantel. It was late: within an hour of midnight. The servants had already gone to bed. Going to their rooms she gently knocked at the door; called to one of them by name:

”Ellen!”

”Yes, ma'am.”

The reply in a frightened, startled voice. The tone betrayed the maid's fear that she was to hear bad news. The next words were a relief:

”You know where Mr. Masters lives?”

The possibility of a want of knowledge on the part of the servants never occurred to her. She was not in the least surprised when an affirmative answer was returned to her:

”Yes, ma'am.”

”I want you to get up at once, Ellen--I am sure you will not mind--and dress yourself quickly. Go to Mr. Masters, give him my compliments, and ask him--ask him to come here--to be kind enough to come here at once.”

”Yes, ma'am. Certainly.”

The girl had listened in astonishment, but obediently set about the task set her. She was fond of children, was Ellen; was thankful too that she had not, as she had feared at first, been called to hear bad news about Miss Gracie.

The maid had no thought of grumbling at the late service demanded of her, although greatly wondering at the message she was to deliver. The over-wrought, tired woman returned to the sick room and waited.

Presently the little lips--for the hundredth time--shaped the question:

”I want Prince Charlie; won't he come and tell me about the fairy and Jack?”

The mother's heart was full of thankfulness that she had sent; that she had humbled herself to do so. She was able to bend over and whisper:

”Yes, darling. Mother has sent for him. He will be here directly.”

She was without fear in making the promise; felt so sure he would come.

He was a gentleman, he would understand. He would know how urgent must be the need which could demand his presence at that late hour--indeed, to send for him at all. Or would he think--No! The thought was too horrible! She stifled it.

Waiting, waiting, waiting--weary waiting! At last she heard the maid's returning steps on the path without; ran to the door and opened it. The girl spoke reluctantly; what she had to say made the mother turn sick at heart.

”Said, ma'am, it was too late to come out to-night. He would come round in the morning.”

The mother's mind failed to grasp it: that message. The callous cruelty of it. It seemed too--too impossible. Had he misunderstood--misjudged her? Could it be? Had she fallen so low in his estimation? A crimson flood overspread her face.... After a pause, as if clutching at a straw, she inquired:

”Did you see him yourself?”

”Yes, ma'am. He seemed to wonder what you could want with him. Said it would keep, whatever it was, till the morning.”