They were afraid to stay in her presence. The weather had suddenly
turned cold, wet, and wintry. Cecile dared not take Maurice out into
the sleet showers which were falling about every ten minutes. All the
bright and genial weather had departed. Their happy days in the woods
and fields were over, and there was nothing for them but to spend the
whole day in their attic bedroom. Here the wind howled fiercely. The
badly-fitting window in the roof not only shook, but let in plenty of
rain. And Maurice cried from cold and fright. In his London home he
had never undergone any real roughing. He wanted a fire, and begged
of Cecile to light one; and when she refused, the little spoiled
unhappy boy nearly wept himself sick. Cecile looked at Toby, and
shook her head despondingly, and Toby answered her with more than one
blink from his wise and solemn eyes.

Neither Cecile nor Toby would have fretted about the cold and
discomfort for themselves, but both their hearts ached for Maurice.

One day the little boy seemed really ill. He had caught a severe
cold, and he shivered, and crouched up now in Cecile's arms with
flushed cheeks. His little hands and feet, however, were icy cold.
How Cecile longed to take him down to Mrs. Bell's warm room. But she
was strictly forbidden to go near the old lady.

At last, rendered desperate, she ventured to do for Maurice what
nothing would have induced her to do for herself. She went
downstairs, poked about until she found Lydia Purcell, and then in a
trembling voice begged from her a few sticks and a little coal to
build a fire in the attic bedroom.

Lydia stared at the request, then she refused it.