He had been asleep
when she first went into his room, and she had come back for a minute then
to try again to get Fleda to bed; why could she not come out for a minute
once more. Two hours of watching and trouble had quite changed little
Fleda; the dark ring of anxiety had come under each eye in her little pale
face; she looked herself almost ill.
Aunt Miriam's grave step was heard coming out of the room at last,--it did
not sound cheerfully in Fleda's ears. She came in, and stopping to give
some direction to Cynthy, walked up to Fleda. Her face encouraged no
questions. She took the child's head tenderly in both her hands, and told
her gently, but it was in vain that she tried to make her voice quite as
usual, that she had better go to bed--that she would be sick.
Fleda looked up anxiously in her face.
"How is he?"
But her next word was the wailing cry of sorrow,--"Oh grandpa!--"
The old lady took the little child in her arms and they both sat there by
the fire until the morning dawned.
Chapter VIII.
Patience and sorrow strove
Who should express her goodliest.
King Lear.
When Mr. Carleton knocked at the front door the next day about two o'clock
it was opened to him by Cynthy.
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