She did not add any more. Even with her own anxious, beating heart, she refused to commune over the contents of her letter. A flush burned on either cheek, her eyes grew bright, with the brightness which often precedes tears, but no tears came to them. She read the brief letter over twice, then folded it up and slipped it into her pocket. As she did this she noticed that Murray had come into the room, that he had observed her action, and that his bold eyes, so like her husband’s, were fixed on her face. “Don’t look at me like that, Murray,” she said with a note in her voice which sounded like a sob. For answer the boy sprang to her side. “Cry if you want to, auntie,” he said. “I know you want to. That letter was from Uncle Adrian, was it not?” “Yes, Murray.” “And he told you that he must be away from home for a little?” “Yes, dear. We won’t talk of it now.” “But why not?” said Murray. “Why not talk of it to me? You see I am accustomed to the sort of thing, Aunt Nancy; when I was young, quite a little fellow, I had a mad, passionate feeling for Uncle Adrian, and when he went away as he has done now and would give no address, I used nearly to go wild. I used to stray off all by myself and have a terrible time. But by-and-by, I saw it was foolish to make myself ill. He always came back again, and I was glad, very glad, to see him. I thought him perfect then,” concluded the boy. “And you don’t think him perfect now?” said Nance. He looked full at her, shut up his lips and was silent. “I think you perfect,” he said after a long pause. “Don’t fret too much, Aunt Nancy; but if you do fret, talk about it all to me, for though I am a boy in years, some things have happened—yes, they have happened here at beautiful Rowton Heights—which have turned me into a man. There are times when I think I am almost an old man, for I feel quite a weight of care, although, of course, I don’t talk of it. Don’t keep your grief too much to yourself, Aunt Nancy, and be sure of one thing—that Uncle Adrian will come back. Some day he’ll walk into the room. He’ll just whistle as he knows how, and open the door and come in, and then it will be all sunshine.” “You are a dear little chap,” said Nancy, bending forward and kissing him. He flushed when she did so. “I love you so much,” he said enthusiastically. “Now I am the man and I shall look after you. Have you eaten anything since you had your ride?” “No; I had breakfast quite early and I am not hungry.” “But that will never do. You must have some wine and a biscuit. Uncle Adrian would wish it. Of course, he intended me to take great care of you. It must have been an awful comfort to him to feel that I was about when he had to leave you. I know where the wine is—I’ll go and fetch it.” He ran off and returned in a moment or two with a glass of port and a box of biscuits. Nancy drank off the wine and felt all the better.