“Not dying,”—­he said—­“I will not have the word used!  She is not dying—­she will not die!  She shall not!”

His eyes flashed—­he looked all at once like an inspired apostle with the gift of life in his hand.  Cicely watched him with a sudden sense of awe.

“If you say so,”—­she faltered slowly—­“perhaps she will not.  Go and see her!”

“To-day?”

“Yes,—­this afternoon.  She has asked for the school children to come and sing to her,—­I shall try to get them about four.  If you come at five, she will be able to see you—­alone.”

A silence fell between them.

“I will come!” said John, at last.

“That’s right!  Good-bye till then!”

And with a glance more expressive than words, Cicely went.

Left to himself, John threw open his study windows, and stepping out into his garden all wet with rain, made his way to its warmest corner, where, notwithstanding inclement weather, the loveliest sweet violets were thickly blossoming under his glass frames.  He began to gather them carefully, and massed them together in bunches of deep purple and creamy white,—­while Bainton, working at a little distance off, looked up in surprise and gratification at the sight of him.  For it was many weary weeks since ‘Passon’ had taken any interest in his ‘forced blooms.’  Nebbie, having got thoroughly draggled and muddy by jumping wildly after his master through an exceedingly wet tangle of ivy, sat demurely watching him, as the little heap of delicately scented blossoms increased.

“The violets are doing wonderfully well this year, Bainton,”—­he presently said, with his old kind smile, addressing his gardener—­“I am taking these to Miss Vancourt this afternoon.”

Bainton lifted his cap respectfully.

“God bless her!” he said,—­“An’ you too, Passon!”

And John, holding the fragrant bunch of small sweet flowers tenderly in his hand, answered gently—­

“Thank you, my friend!  I hope He will!”

XXXI

The rain cleared off in the afternoon and a bright glint of sunshine shone through the slowly dispersing clouds, enabling the children of the village choir to put on their best frocks and hats for the important function to which Cicely had summoned them.  There was great excitement among these little people.  That they should be specially asked to sing to Miss Vancourt was to them an unexpected and unprecedented honour, and filled them with speechless delight and pride.  They were all very shy and nervous, however, and it was with quite a trembling awe that they scraped their feet on the polished oak floors of the Manor, and dragged them hesitatingly and timidly along into the morning room where Maryllia lay peacefully resting, and awaiting their approach.  Her nurses had attired her freshly and becomingly, and had wrapped her in soft pale rose cashmere with delicate ribbons of the same hue tying it about her, while her lovely hair, loosely knotted on the top of her head, was caught together by a comb edged with pink coral which gave just the contrasting touch of colour to the gold-brown curls.  She turned a smiling happy face on the children as they entered, and to Miss Eden and her young assistant, Susie Prescott, she held out her hand.