Golden had quite decided in her mind that she would rather leave Mrs.
Desmond at once, than risk a renewal of her husband's distasteful
attentions, but little Ruby's first words on returning from her drive,
dispelled the idea for the present at least from her thoughts.
"Oh, Mary!" the little one had cried, with childish directness, as soon
as she entered the room. "Oh, Mary! I have heard bad news!"
"I am very sorry for you, dear," said Golden, gently.
Ruby looked up into the face of her uncle, where it hung against the
wall.
"Oh, poor Uncle Bertie!" she sighed.
"Was it about Mr. Chesleigh, Ruby?" she inquired.
"Yes," said the child. "Mamma has had a telegram from some people about
him. He is very sick, and he is away down south at a place called
Glenalvan Hall."
Golden drew her breath heavily, and sank into a chair. It seemed as if
an arrow had pierced her heart. She could not speak, but stared at Ruby
with a dumb misery in her eyes, that the little one could in nowise
understand.
"Some of us will have to go to him--mamma and papa, I suppose,"
continued Ruby. "I asked mamma to let me go, but she says it would be
too warm for me at this time of the year in the south, because I am so
delicate."
"Is he very sick? Will he die?" inquired Golden, speaking in a strange,
unnatural voice.
"They hope not, but he is very sick," said Ruby; and at that moment
Mrs. Desmond swept into the room.
Her bright eyes looked dim and heavy as though she might have been
weeping.
"I am very sorry you have had bad news, madam," said Golden, trying to
appear quiet and natural, though her pulse was beating at fever-heat,
and her eyes were heavy and dim beneath their drooping lashes.
"Ruby has told you of my brother's illness, then," said Mrs. Desmond,
more gently than she usually spoke to her dependents.
"Yes, madam," said Golden, faintly, unable to utter another word.
"He has brain fever," said Mrs. Desmond, despondently. "Mr. Desmond
will leave for the south to-night, and if he is no better when he
arrives, he will telegraph for me to go to him. He is unwilling for me
to go if it can be prevented, as it is so warm down there at this time
of year. Besides, I am unwilling to leave Ruby, and I could not run the
risk of taking her."
She threw herself into a chair, and wept a few genuine tears.
Little Golden, watching her with dry eyes and pale, mute lips, wondered
if the sister's heart ached half so heavily and painfully as her own
did.
"Yet why should I grieve for him?" the poor child asked herself. "I
should rather rejoice. He has forsaken and deserted me."
She could find no answer to that question in her heart, save that she
loved him. Loved him in despite of her cruel wrongs.
Before night another telegram was received, saying that Bertram
Chesleigh had asked repeatedly for his sister. So it was decided that
Mrs. Desmond should accompany her husband.
"Mary, do you think that you and the housekeeper can take care of my
little Ruby while I am gone?" inquired Mrs. Desmond, tearfully.
Golden promised so earnestly to give her whole care and attention
to the little one that Mrs. Desmond could not help confiding in her
promise.
The child herself, though half-distracted with grief at the parting
with her parents, promised bravely to be a good and patient girl for
Uncle Bertie's sake.
Celine was to accompany her mistress, and was in a bustle of pleasant
preparation. The hours passed swiftly, and the time for the farewells
soon came and passed.
Little Ruby sobbed herself to sleep dismally, with her arms around
Golden's neck, unconscious that the girl shed sadder tears than her
own, when her little charge was peacefully dreaming.