“Oh, I don’t go so far as that,” said Pelham. “I’ll call in again in the morning, and I’ll send Barbara round.” “He loves Barbara, he would like to see her,” said Mrs. Pelham. “Give my love to her, Dick. Dick, is it true—are you engaged to Barbara?” “Yes, worse luck,” was the reply. “Why do you say worse luck?” “Because we cannot marry. I am as poor as a church mouse, and she has nothing. But there, Mrs. Pelham, I am a selfish brute to talk of my own affairs just now. I hope little Piers will be better in the morning. Good night.” As soon as Dick had gone Mrs. Pelham went softly up-stairs. She opened the door of the sick-room and stole in. The boy, excited and restless, heard her. He called to her to come to him. “I can’t sleep, mother,” he said. “Is he worse, nurse?” asked Mrs. Pelham. “No, madam, nothing of the kind,” said the nurse. “Kindly leave us, madam, you are only exciting him.” “Yes, you had better go away, you are only exciting me,” repeated Piers. “I want Dick to stay with me. You are too anxious. I hear it in your voice. Please go away, mother.” Mrs. Pelham went very slowly out of the room. When the last echo of her steps had died away Nurse Ives locked the door. She then turned on the electric light. “What are you doing now?” asked the sick child, raising himself on his elbow. “I mean to send you to sleep.” “Like you did last night?” “Yes, like I did last night. Didn’t you like it?” “I was a little—afraid,” said the boy very slowly. He looked anxiously round the room—“I wish—Dick were—here,” he said again, “or—or mother. I was very much _afraid_.” And now his eyes, luminous and troubled, were fixed upon the cold, inscrutable face of the red-haired nurse. “There is nothing to frighten you, child, quite the contrary,” said the nurse. “You must just lie quiet and fix your eyes on me.” “I don’t want that bright light,” said the boy. “Never mind the light—don’t think of it. I want to send you off to sleep.” “Why don’t you give me something to send me to sleep? When mother had bad toothache the doctor gave her something out of a bottle and she went to sleep. I wish you’d give me something out of a bottle. I don’t like to go to sleep your way.” “Mine is a much, much better way. Now you’ll do what I tell you. Give me both your hands.” “I—I _won’t_!” said the child, struggling and beginning to cry feebly. “I am going to stroke your forehead quite gently, and you shall look in my eyes. Don’t look away. See, I’m going to comfort you.” The boy fidgeted and tried to shut his eyes. “Open your eyes, Piers, look at me this minute,” said the nurse, in a firm, stern voice.