"There will be no questioning him, my lord, till he is thoroughly roused," said the nurse.
"Bring me a glass of water."
Whilst the woman went for the tumbler, Lord Lamerton seated himself on the bedside, and drew the little boy up, and seated him on his lap.
"Giles, my darling, what is the matter?"
Then the little fellow clung round his father's neck, and the tears broke from his eyes, and he began to sob.
"What is the matter, my pet, tell me? Have you had bad dreams? Here, drink this draught of cold water."
"No, no, take it away," said the child. "I want papa to stay. Papa, you won't be taken off, will you? Papa, you will not leave me, will you?"
"No, my dear. What have you been thinking about?"
"I have not been thinking. I saw it."
"Saw what, Giles?"
Lord Lamerton stroked the boy's hair; it was wet with perspiration, and now his cheeks were overflowed with tears. The shrieks had ceased. He had recovered sufficient consciousness to control himself; "Papa I was at the window."
"What, in your night-shirt? After you had been put to bed? That was wrong. With your heavy cold you should not have left your bed."
The child seemed puzzled.
"Papa, I do not understand how it was. I would not have left my bed for the world, if I thought you did not wish it; and I do not remember getting out—still, I must have got out; for I was at the window."
"He has not left his bed. He has been dreaming, my lord," explained the nurse in an undertone; and Lord Lamerton nodded.
"Papa, dear."
"Yes, my pet."
