Mary came in and sat down besides Agnes, a little behind her back. “I will not come to the fire,” she said, “for Frogmore’s room is very warm. I prefer to get cooled a little. I think he is better, but we will see what the doctors say. They say I ought to lie down, but I don’t think I shall want it to-night. I am quite fresh. One never wants to lie down one’s first night.” “Oh, my dear, surely, surely they will not let you sit up?” “Why not?” said Lady Frogmore. “I am quite fresh. I have had no fatigue as yet. And he was so pleased to see me. They all say it has done him good to have me back. What is that on the rug at your feet, Agnes? Why, it is a child! Why it is--Duke, my dear boy! I didn’t know you were here. Why, what a leap you have taken, what a huge great boy you have grown.” Duke had sprung to his feet in the surprise. There was little light but the light from the fire--and it was five years since he had seen her. He came forward, hesitating a little, abashed and reluctant to be kissed. He was now twelve and big of his age, not apt to go through these salutations with strangers. Mary put her hands on his shoulders and held him from her to see him fully. “I can’t believe my eyes: Duke--are you sure you are Duke? You are twice as big as you were the other day. Agnes, I can scarcely believe my eyes.” Agnes gave Duke a pull by the arm to stop his exclamation. “Yes,” she said, “he has grown very fast.” “I never saw any child grow so fast,” said Mary in a bewildered tone. “I should scarcely have known the child.” She let him go with something of disappointment in her tone. “I can scarcely believe he is my little Duke,” she said. And then after a pause, there came the question which Agnes had been all this time trembling to hear. Mary recovered herself, putting away this touch of disappointment, and spoke again in the clear assured tones which were new to her sister. “And who,” she said, “is this other nice little boy?” Agnes was overcome by the sufferings of this long and agitating day. Her strength was exhausted. She could bear no more. Little Mar had turned round upon his stool and was gazing at the lady. And she with a smile, and the pleased half interest of a benevolent stranger, looked at him, holding out her hand. “Who,” she said, “is this nice little boy?” Agnes answered, she could not help it, with something more like a scream than an exclamation, “Oh Mary! Oh Mary!” she cried. “What is the matter?” said Mary, tranquilly. “I ought to know him, perhaps. He is one of Duke’s little playfellows, I suppose. Who are you, my nice little boy?” CHAPTER XXV.