“What is it? Do you want anything?” Mrs. Cloud bent down, her face close to the unwinking eyes. “I want——” In a whisper Laura made known her need. “I want the big boy.” Mrs. Cloud shook her head. “Not now. You must go to sleep now. You shall see Justin tomorrow.” “I want——” “Justin’s having his dinner. He’s so hungry—so tired from his long ride. He had to carry you, too, you know. You don’t want to call poor Justin upstairs in the middle of his dinner, do you?” “No. Oh, no.” Then, with concern—“Poor, tired Justin!” She lay quiet. But when Justin, on his way to his own night’s rest, put his head round the door to see, on Mrs. Cloud’s behalf, “if that child was all right,” he found her lying as his mother had left her, still with those wide, unwinking eyes of a watchful dog fixed upon the door. “Hullo, old thing! Awake still? Want to say good-night?” She nodded dumbly. He crossed the room, and stood looking down at her. “Comfortable?” She nodded again. “Sleepy?” She shook her head. “Oh, nonsense, you must go to sleep. Look here—you be a good girl and go to sleep and tomorrow I’ll give you a lesson on Mother’s old bicycle. Like that?” She said nothing. He fidgeted. He was at the end of his consolations. “Well—good-night now.” He turned to go. Her hand shot out and caught his arm. “Is it quite true?” “What?” “About Mother?” “’Fraid so.” He moved uneasily, afraid, boylike, of her tears. But she did not cry. “Are you sure? Are _you_ sure?” He nodded. She turned from him with a sharp movement, so that he could see no more than the outline of her cheek. He stood beside her patiently for a time, but she did not move, and he wondered at last if drowsiness were doing for her all that he could not. With slow precaution he began to edge away his arm. Instantly her grasp tightened. “Oh, I say—you must go to sleep, you know,” he admonished her. She turned again, lifting herself on her pillow. Her eyes devoured his face. “Will you really teach me tomorrow?” “Of course I will. I’ll give you lessons. We’ll soon have you riding all over the place.” “But you’re going away.” “I come home every week.” “Do you?” “Yes.” “Honest?” “Honest. Good-night, old thing.” He hesitated. Then, his pity for her conquering his schoolboy code, he bent down and pecked awkwardly at her cheek. Instantly he was drawn close, was half choked by little passionate, clinging arms. “I’ll love _you_. Oh, I’ll love _you_!” cried Laura desperately. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER VIII Do you remember Topaz? Do you remember that ball of pride and red fur with the inscrutable eyes and erect tail and no heart at all as far as I was concerned?