ply. Leaping past them, she ran towards the nursery.

Bellamy caught her up.

"Wait, Mrs. Chesney ... wait...." he implored as the old solicitor had
done. "He's not in the nursery.... He is in ... in his father's room....
Wait a moment.... Let me explain ... for the boy's sake."

He had ventured to take her arm, and held her back somewhat as he
hurried beside her.

"Bobby is not well...."

She stopped short--spun round in his hold.

"Is he dead? Is he dead? Is he dead?" she kept muttering like an
automaton.

"No ... no. Only a bad cold ... from exposure.... Rather feverish....
You mustn't excite him, though.... Mustn't rush in on him like this....
Sit here a moment, Mrs. Chesney.... Recover yourself.... Let me
explain."

Like an automaton she sat down in the hall chair that he pushed forward.
He could see the beading of sweat about her eyes and lips as she looked
up at him.

He galloped his explanation, bending over her, speaking in a low voice,
and glancing now and then at the door of Cecil's old bedroom near which
they were.

"The little chap got lost in the Park last night ... was some hours in a
pelting rain ... d'you see? He's in no immediate danger ... but he has
pneumonia ... is feverish. We mustn't startle or excite him--d'you see?"

She sat staring up at him out of a dead face in which the eyes looked
startlingly alive. Then she rose, said in a flat, quiet voice:

"Yes ... I see. Now take me to him."

LVII

Bellamy went ahead and opened the door carefully so as to make no sound.
She stood a moment on the threshold looking in. Cecil's bed faced her,
and in it lay his son, propped on pillows to help his difficult
breathing. His grey eyes were wide and bright and unfocused--his cheeks
scarlet. On the sheet before him lay some bits of silver money and a
few bank notes. He fumbled with them incessantly. He was saying in a
thick quick, little voice:

"A first-class ticket.... A ticket to London.... A first-class ticket to
London, please.... I have the money ... here's the money.... I have the
money.... A ticket to London...."

Sophy clung to the jamb of the door. She could not move. Bellamy put his
arm round her. The nurse, who had been sitting by the bed, rose and came
forward.

Suddenly the boy cried out piteously: "Oh! it's getting wet ... it's
melting ... my money's melting...."

The nurse flew back to him.

"No, dear, no," she reassured him. "Here's your money all nice and dry.