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So, looking into Charlie's face with a smile, she spoke to him about his brother. But Charlie did not answer, or Graeme did not hear, and in a little while she said again, "Is Mr Ruthven still in town?" "Oh! yes. It is not likely he will leave again soon." "And your uncle is really recovering from his last attack? What on anxious time Miss Elphinstone must have had!"
Langdale crept away through the hushed house to her own apartment, there to lay down her head and cry herself exhausted. Dear, gallant Charlie! Her heart ached for him. His irrepressible gaiety, his reckless generosity, these had become the attributes of a hero for ever in her eyes.
Anna's face went into her hands, and face and hands to Flora's shoulder; but in the next breath she clutched the shoulder and threw up her head, while the far strain of a bugle faintly called, "Head of column to the right." The cadence died. "Flora! your dream is true and that's the battery! It's going, Flora. It's gone! Your brother's gone! Your brother, Flora, your brother! Charlie! he's gone."
Charlie answered her question by dragging his triumphant bow across the helpless strings, drawing forth a wailing discord of tortured sound. "He thinks he can," giggled Constance. "I suppose those awful sounds are the sweetest music to his ears. Luckily, we don't mind them. I hope you don't. I hate to stop him, he is so delighted with himself." "I don't mind in the least," assured Marjorie.
Here I found Jennie quite happy, with her deaf friend sitting on the edge of the bed beside her, while her grandmother was busy with her work. In a few words I explained to the old woman the situation, and I was made welcome, Jennie being pleased to remain in the cabin all night. I knew Polly would put Charlie to bed when the time came, and the boy was safe enough where he was.
"What are we standing still for?" he said. "I don't know. You stopped. She'd be such an ideal match for you." "Then I should never have done for you, Mrs. Marland." "My dear boy, I was married when you were still in Eton collars." They had completed the circuit of the garden, and now approached where Lady Merceron sat, enveloped in a shawl. "Charlie!" she called.
"How could I have gone home to mamma if I had been obliged to leave you behind?" "But you needn't, you know; you could have tied me up in a bundle and taken me back. Mamma would have known it wasn't your fault." "I am not so sure of that, and you have made poor Charlie cry," drawing the younger boy to her side. "Charlie is just a baby," contemptuously. "He is a better boy than you are." Silence.
Some people do not believe that Christianity can make them happy; that is, because they have never felt it in their hearts. It is a peace which passeth all understanding. She was thinking of Charlie; how he would learn to love her, and please God; what a scholar he would be, and how carefully she would train him.
Dean sat patiently awaiting their exit from the stage door. Lawrence Armitage's operetta had been an artistic as well as a financial success. It had been a "Standing Room Only" audience, and the proceeds were to be given to the Sanford Hospital for Children. Laurie had decreed this as a quiet memento to Constance's devotion to little Charlie during his days of infirmity.
Marjorie smiled down into the earnest, upraised face of the little boy. "Oh, yes, there is a big, big band at the theatre." "Then take me, too," returned the child calmly. "No, no," reproved Constance gently, "Charlie can't go to-night." A grieved look crept into the big black eyes.
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