Nothing else mattered in the same
way. In fact nothing else really mattered at all.
Ah! A movement from the bed at last! Her quick ears, ever on the alert,
warned her on the instant. She turned from the window with such
mother-love shining in her old brown face under its severe white cap as
made it as beautiful in its way as the paradise without.
"Why, Miss Isabel darlint, how you've slept then!" she said, in the soft,
crooning voice which was kept for this one beloved being alone.
Two white arms were stretched wide outside the bed. Two dark eyes,
mysteriously shadowed and sunken, looked up to hers.
"Has he gone already, Biddy?" a low voice asked.
"Only a little way, darlint. He's just round the corner," said Biddy
tenderly. "Will ye wait a minute while I give ye your tay?"
There was a spirit-kettle singing merrily in the room. She busied herself
about it, her withered face intent over the task.
The white arms fell upon the blue travelling-rug that Biddy had spread
with loving care outside the bed the night before to add to her
mistress's comfort. "When did he go, Biddy?" the low voice asked, and
there was a furtive quality in the question as if it were designed for
none but Biddy's ears. "Did he--did he leave no message?"
"Ah, to be sure!" said Biddy, turning her face for a moment. "And the
likes of me to have forgotten it! He sent ye his best love, darlint, and
ye were to eat a fine breakfast before ye went out.
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