feeling as if now the prediction had truly come to pass, that he would be relieved to come to her from the annoyances of his home.
Every one seemed glad to see Arthur--even Mrs. Nesbit. In the course of the evening something was said about a dinner party for the ensuing Saturday, and Lady Martindale asked if he could stay for it.
'Saturday? Yes; I need not go back till Monday.'
'I wish Violet could have come,' said Lord Martindale. 'I am glad you can give us a week; but it is a long time for her to be alone. I hope she has some friend to be with her.'
'Oh, she wants no one,' said Arthur. 'She begged me to go; and I fancy she will be rather glad to have no distraction from the child. I am only in the way of her perpetual walking up and down the room with him whining in her arms.'
'Ah! it is an unlucky affair,' said Mrs. Nesbit, in her sarcastic tone of condolence; 'she will never rear it.'
She seemed, in her triumph, to have forgotten that its father was present, and his impatient speech had certainly not been such as to bring it to mind; but this was too much, and, starting, he hastily exclaimed, 'Children always do make a fuss about their teeth!'
'I do not speak without the authority of medical men,' said Mrs. Nesbit. 'I don't blame your wife, poor thing.'
What do you mean? cried Arthur, colour and voice both rising.
'I am surprised your brother kept it from you,' said she, gratified at torturing him; 'you ought to have been informed.'
'Tell me at once,' said Arthur.
'Only this, Arthur,' said his father, interposing: 'when first the doctor at Ventnor saw him he thought him very delicate, and told John that he would hardly get through the first year without great care.'
'He has all but done that!' said Arthur, breathing more freely; 'he will be a year old on the third.'
'Yes; afterwards the doctor thought much better of him, and John saw no occasion to make you and Violet more anxious.'
'Then it all goes for nothing!' said Arthur, looking full at his aunt with defiance, and moving to the furthest end of the room.
But it did not go for nothing. He could not shake off the impression. The child's illness had never been so alarming as to stir up his feelings, though his comfort had been interfered with; and there were recollections of impatience that came painfully upon him. He knew that Violet thought him more indifferent to his child than he really was; and, though she had never uttered a complaint or reproach, he was sure that he had hurt and distressed her by displeasure at the crying, and by making light of the anxieties, which he now learnt were but too well founded.
Arthur's easiness and selfishness made him slow to take alarm, but when once awakened there was no limit to his anxiety. He knew now what it would be to lose his first-born. He thought of the moment when the babe had been laid on his hand, and of the sad hours when that feeble cry had been like a charm, holding the mother to life; and his heart smote him as he thought of never hearing again the voice of which he had complained. What might not be happening at that moment? As grisly a train of chances rose before him as ever had haunted Violet herself, and he thought of a worse return home than even his last. Yet he had never desired her to let him know whether all was well!
He could not sleep, and in the morning twilight he sought out writing materials, and indited his first letter to his wife:--
'Dear Violet,--I hope you and the boy are well. I have not coughed since I left London. I come home on Monday, if all goes well, and Theodora with me. She has made the place too hot to hold her.
'Yours ever,
'A. N. MARTINDALE.
'P.S. Write and say how the boy is.'
Having hunted up a servant, and sent him with this missive to the early post, Arthur's paternal conscience was satisfied; and, going to bed again, he slept till breakfast was half over, then good- humouredly listened to exclamations on his tardiness, and loitered about the rest of the morning, to the great pleasure of his sister.
The companion, Mrs. Garth, the highly recommended widow of a marine officer, arrived in the afternoon; and Arthur, meeting her on the stairs, pronounced that she was a forbidding-looking female, and there was no fear that she would not be able to hold her own.
Rejoicing in newly-recovered freedom, Theodora had a long ride with him; and having planned another to a village near a trout-stream, where he wanted to inquire about lodgings for his indefatigable fishing friend, Captain Fitzhugh, she was working hard to dispose of her daily avocations before breakfast the next day, when Arthur knocked at her door. 'Good morning,' he said hastily. 'I must go home. My little boy is very ill.'
'Is he? What is it?'
'A bad fit of croup. He was better when the letter went. My poor Violet! She has called in further advice; but it may come back. Do you like to come with me?'
'If you like to have me.'
'Only be quick. I must be gone by the ten o'clock train. You must be ready to start by nine.'
'I'll be ready at once,' said Theodora, hastily ringing for Pauline, and rushing upon her preparations. She could not bear to part with him in his grief, and thought, in case of the child's severe illness or death, that he would be in need of her comfort when he had his wife on his hands. She would not take Pauline--she would not be dependent, and trouble their small household with another servant; but Charles Layton she could not leave, and having given orders to pack up her things, she flew off down the avenue to desire his aunt to prepare him.
Up and down, backwards and forwards, giving directions to every one, she hurried about till her father summoned her to breakfast.
'I am glad you are going with him, my dear,' he said, as he went down the steps with her. 'We shall depend on you for hearing of the little boy.'
That genuine cordial approbation was so pleasant that the thought crossed her, 'Was she going to be a blessing to her family?'
'Good-bye, Arthur,' said Lord Martindale, warmly pressing his hand. 'I hope you will find him better, and Violet not doing too much. Give my love to her.'
Arthur was moved by his father's unwonted warmth, and leaned back in the carriage in silence. Theodora watched him anxiously, and did not speak for some time.
'Had there been any tendency to croup before?' she asked at last.
'Tender throat, I believe; Violet always was anxious. I wish I had not come away; it is too much for her alone! Ha! what are we stopping for now?'
'To pick up Charles Layton.'
'You'll make us miss the train.'
'No, here he is. He shall be in nobody's way. I'll put him into the housemaid's charge in Belgrave square.'
And with her eyes and fingers she encouraged the poor child as he was lifted up to the box. 'There, I've not stopped you long.'
'What shall you do with him on the railroad!'
'Take him with us, of course.'
'I won't have him going in a first-class with me.'
'Then I shall go in a second-class with him.'
Here it occurred to her that this was a strange way of fulfilling her mission of comfort, and she would fain have recalled her words, but only sat silent till they came to the station, where, without any further question, they were all three lodged in the same carriage, where presently a county neighbour entered, attracted by the sight of Arthur. Theodora was provoked, feeling for Arthur, and thinking it was the stranger's presence that hindered her from resuming the task of cheering him, but she was more annoyed when Arthur plunged into a hunting discussion.
She sat working up the scene which awaited them, the child just expiring, his mother in hysterical agonies, and she herself displaying all her energy and resources, perhaps saving Johnnie's life--at any rate, being her brother's stay and support when his wife gave way.
His silence and anxious looks returned as they drove from the station, and she could think of nothing to say but the old hope that the baby was better. As they stopped, he threw open the carriage- door, and springing out,
