"Jane," I said, "you are to make the beef-tea yourself, and you are
always to have a supply, fresh and very strong, in the house. Whenever
my mother seems tired or fagged you are to give her a cup of beef-tea,
and see that she drinks it."
"Bless you, Miss Rose, of course I will."
"Buy anything else that is necessary," I said. "I am going away
immediately, but shall be back on Monday afternoon."
My five minutes were up by this time, and I stole into Jack's sick-room.
He was stretched flat out in bed; his cheeks were wet as if tears had
touched them, and one great muscular arm was flung round my mother's
neck. She was kneeling by him, and holding his hand.
The moment I entered she looked round at me.
"My dear love," she said, "you are perfectly right; Hetty must not be
left a moment longer than can be helped. Hush, Jack, you need have no
anxiety for your wife. I--I will go to see her _myself_ if it is
necessary."
"No, mother, you must stay with me. You are so pretty and so gentle,
and your hand is so soft. Hetty's hands aren't as soft as yours."
Here he began to wander again. My mother followed me out of the room,
the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Oh, Rose," she said, "the poor, poor boy. And you thought, both of
you, to hide it from your mother?"
"No, mother, I longed for you to know; I am sure that telling you his
story has given Jack the greatest relief. And weren't you a bit angry
with him, mother?"
"Angry, Rosamund? Was this a time to be angry? and do mothers as a rule
turn away from repentant sons?"
"Not mothers such as you," I replied. "Mothers worthy of the name would
never do such a thing," she replied. "Why, Rosamund, a mother--I say it
in all reverence--stands something in the place of God. When we are
truly repentant we never feel nearer to God, and so a boy is never truly
nearer to his mother than when he has done something wrong, and is sorry
for it. Come up-stairs with me at once, I must help you to make your
preparations. You have not an hour to lose in going to Jack's Hetty."
My mother was so excited, so enthusiastic, that she would scarcely give
me breathing-time to put my things together.
"You must not delay," she kept on saying. "You have told me how
careless the landlady is, and that poor child has had no one to do
anything for her since early morning. Rose, dear, how is she off for
little comforts, and clothes and those sort of things?"
"I should say, very badly off, mother. Hetty is as poor as poor can
be."
"I have one or two night-dresses," began my mother.
"Now, mother, you are not going to deprive yourself."
"Don't talk of it in that light, Rose. Hetty is my daughter, remember."
I felt a fierce pang of jealousy at this. My mother left the room, and
presently returned with a neatly-made-up parcel.
"You will find some small necessaries for the poor child here," she
said. "And now go, my darling, and God bless you. One word first,
however. How are you off for money, Rose?"
"I have plenty, mother. Don't worry yourself on that point."
"I have a little pearl ring up-stairs, which I could sell, if
necessary."
The tears rushed to my eyes when my mother said this. The pearl ring
was her sole adornment, and she had worn it on Sunday ever since we were
children.
"You shall never sell your dear ring," I said.