Mrs. Estcourt's letter began 'Dear Madam,' and it was some little time before Arthur could understand who it was from, or what it meant. By and by he found that it was from Edgar's aunt, and that she was wishing him to stay at her house in London, so that he might see her little nephew again.

This letter told that Edgar was very ill indeed; that his illness was consumption, and that the doctor expected him to live only a very short time.

It was several minutes before Arthur spoke, after he had read this letter.

Breakfast was quite forgotten, and he could hardly understand at first the strange things he had read.

"Now, Arthur dear, you must eat some breakfast before we talk," said his aunt.

"Aunt Daisy," he said, when he had finished, "What shall you say, when you answer Edgar North's aunt's letter?"

"Well, what shall I say?"

"Auntie," said Arthur presently, "I am so sorry about Edgar. I never thought he was so very ill. Do you think he is really going to die?"

"Yes, dear. I should think he will not get well. But you need not be sorry, Arthur. Don't you see, he says he is not afraid; and the world is not such a very bright place that he should be sorry to go, when he knows he has such a home. Don't you think so, darling?"

"Yes," said Arthur; but the tears had dimmed his blue eyes, and a sudden feeling in his throat made him stop speaking.

When Mrs. Estcourt was sitting with her work by the drawing-room fire, with Arthur by her side, much more quietly and gravely than was usual with him, he said suddenly:

"But, aunt, when are you going to answer that letter?"

"That is just the question I was asking myself, and the answer was, 'Now.'

What shall I say, Arthur?"

"Well, don't you think I had better go?"

"Yes, surely, dear. But how are you going to get there? You cannot travel by yourself."

"Oh, aunt!" said Arthur, almost in an alarmed tone of voice, "I should hope I am old enough. Why, of course I could. The idea of anybody taking care of me!"

"Well, but," said Mrs. Estcourt, smiling, "that is just what I have been thinking about all this time. I have been thinking that I should feel very unhappy, if I let you go alone. It may be foolish, Arthur; but, you know, your father and mother gave you to me to take care of for them."

"I know," said Arthur impatiently, "they would let me go by myself. I could not bear to have any old man or woman looking after me."

"They need not be old, you know," said his aunt. "Now, Arthur," she added very decidedly, "there is no use saying anything more about it. If you go at all, I must know that some one is in the carriage with you. I need not tell them to take care of you, but I must know that some one will be there; and I know Mrs. Maitland is going to London to-morrow, so I shall find out what train she is going by." Arthur made an impatient movement; he did not say any more, but a look was on his face that showed what he was feeling. As it happened, he need not have been so disgusted. When the time for starting came, and he was taking his seat in the carriage, he found that the lady had already taken her place there; and it was not so very trying to his feelings as he expected, for Mrs. Estcourt only said, "This is my little nephew, Mrs. Maitland; he is going to London, and I am glad to think he is in your company."

"She never asked her to take care of me," said Arthur to himself, "and I am sure she could not think of such a thing herself when she sees me."

But Mrs. Maitland had sons of her own at home about Arthur's age, and she knew something about boys and their ways, so that by the time they reached the Paddington Station they were very good friends. Arthur did not at all object to her helping him to get a cab that was to take him to Leicester Lodge, in Kensington.

Indeed, he was obliged to confess to himself, when he found himself alone in the hansom cab that his friend had found for him, that it was very well she had been with him, for when he was standing on the platform, with the din and bustle around him, and the many people stirring in the vast station, he had felt quite bewildered. He had never been in London before, and this was the longest journey he had taken.

It was a very curious feeling that he had when he found himself alone in the cab: at first he could not get quite over the feeling that it was not safe; it seemed to him that it would be so very easy for the driver to go away and leave the horse to take him wherever he liked amongst the crowds of people, and cabs, and omnibuses.

You may be sure that he looked about him well, as they whirled along through street after street, skirting the park and the palace-like houses.

He had to guess the names of the places they were pa.s.sing through, and I dare say some of his guesses would have amused you very much indeed. He was quite sure a hotel that he pa.s.sed was somebody's palace, perhaps the Lord Chancellor's. He did not think it could be Her Majesty's, because there were no soldiers.

It was quite dark by the time the cab drove up outside Leicester Lodge, and lights were shining above the shutters of the dining and drawing-room windows. The dim light enabled Arthur to see that it was a large house with a small piece of garden-ground in front, and one or two leafless trees, which gave it rather a dreary look.

It was not very long before he found himself standing inside the hall door with his portmanteau. The servant showed him into a small ante-room, and said he would tell the young ladies. Arthur had a curious feeling of not being expected, although he knew he must be, as his aunt had written to Mrs. North the day before.

This was not a very quiet and orderly household evidently; there were traces of that in the room where he was sitting, and he could hear noises on the stairs and in the room overhead that might say the same. Presently there was a scuffling noise in the hall, and after a little while the door was burst quickly open, and more than one curly head peeped in, and was as quickly drawn back, and Arthur could hear a little girl's voice say, "Oh, Gerald, it was you made me do it; you know it was!"

Arthur felt rather inclined to run out, and see who was there; but he thought it would be better to wait until some older person came.

By and by the door opened again, more quietly this time, and a young lady came into the room. She had a kind look on her face, as she held out her hand to Arthur, and said--

"I am so sorry you have been left here alone; but I could not leave the baby, my youngest brother. Won't you come upstairs to your room?"

Arthur was feeling just a little shy, so he only shook hands with the young lady, and followed her upstairs. On the way, he asked, "Will you tell me how Edgar is?"

"Not very well, to-day; but just now he is asleep, I think. Were you and he great friends?"

"Yes," said Arthur. "Are you his cousin?"

"One of his cousins. I dare say he told you there were ever so many."

"Yes; I don't think he knew how many," said Arthur.

"No; I should think not," said Maude, laughing. "I hardly do, sometimes.

But I believe altogether we number ten."

"Oh," said Arthur, "what, ten brothers and sisters at home?"

"Oh, no; we are very seldom all at home together. Two of my brothers are abroad, and some of the girls are at school. It is a very good thing they are sometimes."

"There, that is Edgar's room," said Miss North, as they pa.s.sed one of the doors. "We try to keep the noise away from this pa.s.sage as much as we can; but it is not very easy with so many boys and girls." This was very true, as just then two boys about Arthur's own age came bursting through one of the doors, and were stopped by their sister at the entrance of the pa.s.sage.

"Now, boys, don't come this way. You know Edgar is asleep. Just tumble down the other stairs, if you must tumble."

"I suppose you never tear about in that way," said Maude, with a faint smile.

"Oh, yes, I think I do sometimes," Arthur answered; "but, of course, it is not so much fun doing it by one's self."

They were in Arthur's room now, which was a small one not very far from Edgar's; and a locked door, which opened into another room, showed that it was a dressing-room.

"You see, as the children and Edgar are at home, we have only this little room. Will you be able to sleep here, do you think?"

Edgar's cousin smiled as she spoke, and Arthur thought how very nice it made her look.

"Oh, yes; I should think so," he said.

"Well, presently you will hear the tea bell. Oh, no; but I forgot! We don't ring the tea bell now that Edgar is ill. One of the children shall let you know, if you are not down first."

But after a little while, when no one had come to call him, Arthur opened his door and came down stairs. It did not need any one to tell him which was the room where the young people were, as the sounds that came through the shut door would let any one know that. Arthur paused outside the school-room door, and then he opened it and went in. It was such a strange new scene that he saw, so different from anything he had been accustomed to, and he was almost bewildered by so many boys and girls, most of whom seemed to be laughing and talking together.

There was a long tea-table. The eldest sister was at the head, five younger ones were seated around, and a tall boy was lying on a sofa near the fire reading. Indeed, he did not call himself a boy at all; for he had just left school, and was preparing for some difficult examination.

All the faces round the table were turned towards Arthur as he opened the door; but none of them spoke until Maude, noticing the silence, saw Arthur standing. Then she said, "Gerald, why don't you speak? or Harold, this is Arthur Vivyan, Edgar's friend."