"Did you not think it was Dr. Blewett come to see you, my little man?"
"No, papa, I did not think anything about whose coach it was. But when it remained at the door, and no one got out, I saw it must be staying for some one to enter it."
"And did any one come out of the house?"
Then the little boy began to sob again, and cling round his father's neck, and kiss him.
"Well, my dear Giles?"
"Oh, papa!—you will not go away!—I saw you come out of the door, and you went away in the coach—"
"I!" Lord Lamerton drew a sigh of relief. The dream of the dear little fellow, associated with his illness, had produced an uneasy effect on his father's mind—he feared it might portend the loss of the boy, but if the carriage waited only for himself—!
"That, papa, was why I cried, and was frightened. You will not go! you must not go!" The child trembled, clasping his father, and rubbing his wet cheek against his father's face.
Then Lord Lamerton called the nurse from the next room. "Master Giles," he said, "is not thoroughly roused. The current of his thoughts must be diverted. Throw that thick shawl over him. I will carry him down into the drawing-room to my lady, and show him a picture-book. Then he will forget his dream and go to sleep. Come for him in a quarter of an hour."
The nurse did as required. Then Lord Lamerton stood up, carrying his son, who laid his head on his father's shoulders, and so he bore him through the passages and down the grand staircase to the drawing-room. The little fair face rested on the shoulder, with the fair hair hanging down over the father's back, and one hand was clutched in the collar. Lord Lamerton kissed the little hand. He was not afraid of making the child's cold worse, the evening was so warm.
