He did not
look at the bed at all, but bent his eyes gravely upon his aunt.
"Please, aunt--you must leave us--I want to speak to my mother."
"No--Peter--how could you? I daren't--I mustn't--your father--your mother
is asleep," and then, from behind them, there came a very soft voice--
"No--let us be alone--please, Jessie."
Peter did not, even then, turn round to the bed, but fixed his eyes on his
aunt.
"The doctor--" she gasped, and then, with frightened eyes, she picked up
her sewing and crept out.
Then he turned round and faced the bed, and was suddenly smitten with great
shyness at the sight of that white, tired face, and the black hair about
the pillow.
"Well, mother," he said, stupidly.
But she smiled back at him, and although her voice was very small and
faint, she spoke cheerfully and as though this were an ordinary event.
"Well, you've come to see me at last, Peter," she said.
"I mustn't stay long," he answered, gruffly, as he moved awkwardly towards
the bed.
"Bring your chair close up to the bed--so--like that. You have never come
to sit in here before. Peter, do you know that?"
"Yes, mother." He turned his eyes away and looked on to the floor.
"You have come in before because you have been told to. To-day you were not
told--why did you come?"
"I don't know.... Father's in Truro.
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