“HE seemed to think baby had got at something poisonous, and sucked it—paint or dye of some kind,” said Mrs. Kayll afterwards to Madge. “It’s impossible to say he hasn’t, when he puts everything he comes near into his mouth. One can’t always have one’s eye upon him. What do you think, dear? Does he look any worse—or a trifle better? I don’t know myself, I’ve been looking at him so long, but I almost fancy there is a little improvement.”

It was again towards evening, and, so slowly does time seem to go when anything occurs out of the common course of events, the children began to feel as though their father had been absent for years instead of only three days. Madge herself felt almost as though she had grown older in that short time. There were actually lines in her smooth brow as she examined the baby, for the difference she could not see. She kissed the small white hand that lay so listlessly over her mother’s dress, and the thick drops clouded her eyes.

“Oh, baby, baby!” she sighed, with a chill of dread creeping over her, as she found that he still seemed neither to see nor hear. “Mother, I wish it were any one of us but him, for we could at least tell how we felt. I wish with all my heart it was me.”

One by one the children went to say good-night—each more tired by doing nothing in particular than by the usual lessons or work. Each kissed the baby’s white cheek, and stole softly away to bed, scarcely speaking; and again Mrs. Kayll and Madge were left to watch and sleep in turn through the night hours.

There were only three bed-rooms in this little house where the Kaylls lived, for, when people are as poor as they were, they have often to crowd into a small space. In fact, they would not have been able to afford a house to themselves in the outskirts of London, but that they had this one very cheaply from its many disadvantages. For one thing, it was so old that it was not considered very safe, while the one adjoining it was really so unsafe that it had not been inhabited for some time. Then it stood so much below the road that it was damp, and the wall-paper used to peel off in places on the ground floor.

Of the three bed-rooms one belonged to the boys, one to the girls, and the other to Mr. and Mrs. Kayll and the baby.

The boys had gone early to bed that night, Bob and Jack so thoroughly tired out that they quickly fell asleep, the latter to dream that his father came home and caned him well—although Mr. Kayll had never caned anyone in his life, and probably never would—for his foolish little joke which had done so much harm. For, though no one had said a word of reproach to him on the subject since his part in the affair became known, Jack blamed himself bitterly, and was at the bottom of his heart extremely unhappy, but at the same time much too proud to confess the fact, or even to let it be guessed from his manner or appearance. Only Bessie seemed to understand, and was very loving to him in consequence in her shy little way.

Yet, as a matter of fact, though he had helped to bring about this trouble that had fallen on the whole family, Jack was not more unhappy than Jem, who lay long awake, restless and dissatisfied with himself, wishing that he had not thrown away his situation for a mere whim; that he had tried for another; that his father were back; that the baby were not ill; that they were all better off; wishing and wishing, until his wishes gradually faded into uneasy dreams, and his dreams into a complete blank.

In the girls’ room there was one more wakeful still—little Bessie, whose mind was very active, as is often the case with delicate people. She lay wide awake, hour after hour, her small brain busy with one thing after another, until she felt too nervous to lie still, stepped out of bed, and began to dress.

For Bessie had taken it into her head that she was being deceived for her good, and that her little brother was really dying.“They say he will be better in the morning, and they mean that all his illness will be over, and that he will be a little angel,” she said to herself. “And father will never see him again.”

And the tears crept quietly down her cheeks as she put on her clothes. If she could not sleep it would be better to be up, and then she should hear what was going on. She loved her baby brother so dearly, and perhaps he would never again smile at her, never again prattle to her in his pretty unintelligible way, which she always fancied she understood—she hardly thought anyone understood or loved him as she did. Well, there was one way.

She kneeled down by her bed, folded her hands, and closed her eyes, while her lips moved softly for some time, though she only said the same simple words again and again.

At last she stood up, dried her eyes, and went to the window to look wistfully up at the stars. Poor little Bessie! she loved every one she knew so much that her only great wish was that she and her father, mother, brothers and sisters might all die at once, and so no one be left lonely upon earth.

A sound from down-stairs made her start and go to the door to listen. Somebody was certainly up and moving about. Who could it be? She peered out and saw that her mother’s door was shut, while a streak of light beneath told that a candle was left burning. At the same time from the room occupied by the boys came to her ears something very like a snore.

“Who is it? It can’t be a thief, because he would know that we are too poor to have anything worth stealing. And yet—”

And yet it must be a thief. Else, why was he creeping about so quietly? Her heart began to beat terribly fast, and she shivered with fear. She stepped across the passage and listened at the door with the chink of light under it. If mother and Madge were awake she would speak to them, but she dared not tap unless she heard their voices, for fear of disturbing the baby. Had the wood that divided her from them only been transparent she would have seen her mother in an arm-chair half dozing, but still awake enough to notice if there were any uneasy movement on the part of the little invalid that lay in her arms, and Madge, still dressed, lying across the bed, just as she had carelessly thrown herself, in a sound sleep.

How still all was within! So still that Bessie forgot the noise down-stairs, in the fear that this silence must mean something wrong. Perhaps the little brother was already gone from among them when she was kneeling by her bed asking that he might be allowed to stay here and grow up to be a man. The tears rose in her eyes and sobs in her throat.

All at once a cold chill stole over her. The cautious step was coming upstairs, slowly and very softly. It was a man certainly, but what he wanted she could not guess. Many dreadful stories that she had heard came into her mind, and she dared not cry out or shriek for fear he might strike her down. Each step creaked under his weight, and all was so still that she could even hear his heavy breathing as she pressed herself against the wall in the hope that he would pass her in the dark.

He was advancing towards her now, and before she could summon up courage to move his hand had touched her, and he had stifled an exclamation of surprise. Bessie trembled so that she was sinking to the floor from fright, but the hand that had touched her grasped her by the arm and held her up.

“Hallo! Who’s this?”

The little girl could hardly keep back a scream of joy and relief as she heard these muttered words.

“Oh, Bob!” she said in a sobbing whisper, “how you frightened me!”

“Why? What’s the matter? What are you doing here? What are you shivering about?”

“I came to listen if—if everything was all right.”

“So did I,” said Bob, holding her tightly in his arms, for she still seemed hardly able to stand. “And I’ve been down-stairs, where I could walk about without disturbing the others, as I woke and couldn’t sleep again. Poor little mouse! You have been working yourself up into a fidget. There, go back to bed, you little goosie. Walking about in the middle of the night like a little ghost!”

Mrs. Kayll’s door opened, and Madge looked out.

“Is anything wrong?” she asked.

“No,” Bob answered quickly. “How’s baby?”

“Sleeping nicely.”

“There, you hear that, Bess. Now, toddle into bed again, and be quick and do the same.”

He gave her a squeeze and let her go, and Bessie, comforted by the news and the caress, obeyed his orders, not only as to getting into bed, but as to going off at once into a sound and dreamless sleep.