“She is the one who is asleep in the other room.  The nurse went away yesterday to stay all night with her sister and she always makes Martha attend to me when she wants to go out.  Martha shall tell you when to come here.”

Then Mary understood Martha’s troubled look when she had asked questions about the crying.

“Martha knew about you all the time?” she said.

“Yes; she often attends to me.  The nurse likes to get away from me and then Martha comes.”

“I have been here a long time,” said Mary.  “Shall I go away now?  Your eyes look sleepy.”

“I wish I could go to sleep before you leave me,” he said rather shyly.

“Shut your eyes,” said Mary, drawing her footstool closer, “and I will do what my Ayah used to do in India.  I will pat your hand and stroke it and sing something quite low.”

“I should like that perhaps,” he said drowsily.

Somehow she was sorry for him and did not want him to lie awake, so she leaned against the bed and began to stroke and pat his hand and sing a very low little chanting song in Hindustani.

“That is nice,” he said more drowsily still, and she went on chanting and stroking, but when she looked at him again his black lashes were lying close against his cheeks, for his eyes were shut and he was fast asleep.  So she got up softly, took her candle and crept away without making a sound.

CHAPTER XIV

A YOUNG RAJAH

The moor was hidden in mist when the morning came and the rain had not stopped pouring down.  There could be no going out of doors.  Martha was so busy that Mary had no opportunity of talking to her, but in the afternoon she asked her to come and sit with her in the nursery.  She came bringing the stocking she was always knitting when she was doing nothing else.

“What’s the matter with thee?” she asked as soon as they sat down.  “Tha’ looks as if tha’d somethin’ to say.”

“I have.  I have found out what the crying was,” said Mary.

Martha let her knitting drop on her knee and gazed at her with startled eyes.

“Tha’ hasn’t!” she exclaimed.  “Never!”

“I heard it in the night,” Mary went on.  “And I got up and went to see where it came from.  It was Colin.  I found him.”

Martha’s face became red with fright.

“Eh!  Miss Mary!” she said half crying.  “Tha’ shouldn’t have done it—­tha’ shouldn’t!  Tha’ll get me in trouble.  I never told thee nothin’ about him—­but tha’ll get me in trouble.  I shall lose my place and what’ll mother do!”

“You won’t lose your place,” said Mary.  “He was glad I came.  We talked and talked and he said he was glad I came.”

“Was he?” cried Martha.  “Art tha’ sure?  Tha’ doesn’t know what he’s like when anything vexes him.  He’s a big lad to cry like a baby, but when he’s in a passion he’ll fair scream just to frighten us.  He knows us daren’t call our souls our own.”