"Oh, come, Cecile," said little Maurice, springing to his feet;
"stepmother is awake, and we may get to the fire. I am so bitter cold."

There was not a particle of anything but a kind of selfish longing
for warmth and comfort on his little face. He ran along the passage
holding out his hand to his sister, but Cecile drew back. She came
out more into the light and looked straight up into the tall doctor's
face:

"Is my stepmother going to be ill very long, Dr. Austin?"

"No, my dear; I don't expect her illness will last much longer."

"Oh, then, she'll be quite well to-morrow."

"Perhaps--in a sense--who knows!" said the doctor, jerking out his
words and speaking queerly. He looked as if he wanted to say more,
but finally nodding to the child, turned on his heel and walked away.

Cecile, satisfied with this answer, and reading no double meaning in
it, followed her brother and the dog upstairs. She entered a
tolerably comfortable sitting-room, where, on a sofa, lay a woman
partly dressed. The woman's cheeks were crimson, and her large eyes,
which were wide open, were very bright. Little Maurice had already
found a seat and a hunch of bread and butter, and was enjoying both
drawn up by a good fire, while the dog Toby crouched at his feet and
snapped at morsels which he threw him. Cecile, scarcely glancing at
the group by the fire, went straight up to the woman on the sofa: