"
"Most willingly, Eric." And again, warmly pressing his hand, Montagu
returned to his own study.
Soon after, there came a timid knock at Eric's door. He expected Wildney
as usual; a little before, he had been looking out for him, and hoping
he would come, but he didn't want to see him now, so he answered rather
peevishly, "Come in; but I don't want to be bothered to-night."
Not Wildney, but Vernon appeared at the door. "May I come in? not if it
bothers you, Eric," he said, gently.
"Oh, Verny, I didn't know it was you; I thought it would be Wildney. You
_never_ come now."
The little boy came in, and his pleading look seemed to say, "Whose
fault is that?"
"Come here, Verny;" and Eric drew him towards him, and put him on his
knee, while the tears trembled large and luminous in the child's eyes.
It was the first time for many a long day that the brothers had been
alone together, the first time for many a long day that any acts of
kindness had passed between them. Both seemed to remember this, and, at
the same time, to remember home, and their absent parents, and their
mother's prayers, and all the quiet half-forgotten vista of innocent
pleasures, and sacred relationships, and holy affections.
Pages:
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303