A VERY STRANGE THING.
The moment I opened the door of the study, I saw my uncle--in his
think-chair, his head against the back of it, his face turned to the
ceiling. I ran to his side and dropped on my knees, thinking he was dead.
He opened his eyes and looked at me, but with such a wan, woe-begone
countenance, that I burst into a passion of tears.
"What is it, uncle dear?" I gasped and sobbed.
"Nothing very new, little one," he answered.
"It is something terrible, uncle," I cried, "or you would not look like
that! Did those horrid men hurt you? You did give it them well! You came
down on them like the angel on the Assyrians!"
"I don't know what you're talking about, little one!" he returned. "What
men?"
"The men that came with John's mother to carry him off. If it hadn't been
for my beautiful uncle, they would have done it too! How I wondered what
had become of you! I was almost in despair. I thought you had left us to
ourselves--and you only waiting, like God, for the right moment!"
He sat up, and stared at me, bewildered.
"I had forgotten all about John!" he said.
"As to what you think I did, I know nothing about it. I haven't been out
of this room since I saw--that spectre in the kitchen."
"John's mother, you mean, uncle?"
"Ah! she's John's mother, is she? Yes, I thought as much--and it was more
than my poor brain could stand! It was too terrible!--My little one, this
is death to you and me!"
My heart sank within me.
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