The Matron, on being summoned, said that she had from the first been sure, in spite of his clothes, that little Mike was a well-born, tenderly-nurtured child, with good manners and refined habits, and she had tried in vain to understand what he said of himself, though night and morning, he had said his prayers for papa and mamma, and at first added that 'papa might be well,' and he might go home; but where home was there was no discovering, except that there had been journeys by puff puff; and Louey, and Aunt Emma, and Nurse, and sea, and North something, and 'nasty man,' were in an inextricable confusion.
She took them therewith into a large airy room, where the elder children, whole rows of little beings in red frocks, were busied under the direction of a lively young nurse, in building up coloured cubes, 'gifts' in Kindergarten parlance.
There was a few moments of pause, as all the pairs of eyes were raised to meet the new-comers. With a little sense of disappointment, but more of anxiety, Frank glanced over them, and encountered a rounded, somewhat puzzled stare from two brown orbs in a rosy face. Then he ventured to say 'Mite,' and there followed a kind of laughing yell, a leap over the structure of cubes, and the warm, solid, rosy boy was in his arms, on his breast, the head on his shoulder in indescribable ecstasy of content on both sides, of thankfulness on that of the father.
'No doubt there!' said the Guardian and the Matron to one another, between smiles and tears.
Mite asked no questions. Fate had been far beyond his comprehension for the last five months, and it was quite enough for him to feel himself in the familiar arms, and hear the voice he loved.
'Would he go to mamma?'
The boy raised his head, looked wonderingly over his father's face, and said in a puzzled voice-
'Louey said she would take me home in the puff puff.'
'Come now with father, my boy. Only kiss this good lady first, who has been so kind to you.
'Kiss Tommy too, and Fanny,' said Michael, struggling down, and beginning a round of embraces that sufficiently proved that his nursery had been a happy one, while his father could see with joy that he was as healthy and fresh-looking as ever, perhaps a little less plump, but with the natural growth of the fourth year, and he was much the biggest of the party, with the healthfulness of country air and wholesome tendance, while most of the others were more or less stunted or undergrown.
Lord Northmoor's longing was to take his recovered son at once to gladden his mother's eyes; but Michael's little red frock would not exactly suit with the manner of his travels.
So he accepted the Guardian's invitation to come to his house and let Michael be fitted out there, an invitation all the more warmly given because it would have been a pity to let wife and daughters miss the interest of the sight of the lost child and his father. So, all formalities being complied with and in true official spirit, the account for the boy's maintenance having been asked for, a hearty and cordial leave was taken of the Matron, and Michael Kenton Morton was discharged from Liverpool Union.
The lady and her daughters were delighted to have him, and would have made much of him, but the poor little fellow proved that his confidence in womankind had been shaken, by clinging tight to his father, and showing his first inclination to cry when it was proposed to take him into another room to be dressed. Indeed, his father was as little willing to endure a moment's separation as he could be, and looked on and assisted to see him made into a little gentleman again in outward costume.
After luncheon there was still time to reach Malvern by a reasonable hour of the evening, and Frank felt as if every moment of sorrow were almost a cruelty to his wife. The Guardian's wife owned that she ought not to press him to sleep at her house, and forwarded his departure with strong fellow-feeling for the mother's hungry bosom.
From the station Frank sent telegrams to Herbert, to Mrs. Morton, and to Rose Rollstone; besides one to Lady Adela, containing only the reference, Luke xv. 32.
People looked somewhat curiously at the thin, worn-looking, elderly man, with the travelling bag in one hand, and the little boy holding tight by the other, each with a countenance of radiant gladness; and again, to see how, when seated, he allowed himself to be climbed over and clasped by the sturdy being, who seemed almost overwhelming to one so slight.
When the September twilight darkened into night, Michael, who had been asleep, awoke with a scream and flung both arms round his father's neck, exclaiming-
'Oh, Louey, I'll not cry! Don't let him throw me out! Oh, the nasty man!'
And even when convinced that no nasty man was present, and that it was papa, not Louey, whom he was grappling, he still nestled as close as possible, while he was only pacified in recurring frights by listening to a story. Never good at story-telling, the only one that, for the nonce, his father could put together was that of Joseph, and this elicited various personal comparisons.
'Mine wasn't a coat of many colours, it was my blue frock! Did they dip it in blood, papa?'
'Not quite, my darling, but it was the same thing.'
Then presently, 'It wasn't a camel, but a puff puff, and he was so cross!'
By and by, 'I didn't tell anybody's dreams, papa. They didn't make me ride in a cha-rot, but nurse made me monitor, 'cause I knew all my letters. I should like to have a brother Benjamin. Mayn't Tommy be my brother? Wasn't Joseph's mamma very glad?'
Michael's Egypt had not been a very terrible house of bondage, and the darker moments of his abduction did not dwell on his memory; but years later, when first he tasted beer, he put down the glass with a shudder, as the smell and taste brought back a sense of distress, confusion, and horror in a gas-lit, crowded bar, full of loud-voiced, rough figures, and resounding with strange language and fierce threats to make him swallow the draught which, no doubt, had been drugged.
CHAPTER XL. JOY WELL-NIGH INCREDIBLE
The midday letters were a riddle to the ladies at Malvern.
'Out all day,' said Mary, 'that is well. He will get strong out boating.'
'I hope Herbert has come home to take him out,' said Constance.
'Or he may be yachting. I wonder he does not say who is taking him out. I am glad that he can feel that sense of enjoyment.'
Yet that rejoicing seemed to be almost an effort to the poor mother who craved for a longer letter, and perhaps almost felt as if her Frank were getting out of sympathy with her grief-and what could be the good news?
'Herbert must have passed!' said Constance.
'I hope he has, but the expression is rather strong for that,' said Lady Adela.
'Perhaps Ida is engaged to that Mr. Deyncourt? Was that his name?' said Lady Northmoor languidly.
'Oh! that would be delicious,' cried Constance, 'and Ida has grown much more thoughtful lately, so perhaps she would do for a clergyman's wife.'
'Is Ida better?' asked her aunt, who had been much drawn towards the girl by hearing that her health had suffered from grief for Michael.
'Mamma does not mention her in her last letter, but poor Ida is really much more delicate than one would think, though she looks so strong. This would be delightful!'
'Yet, joy well-nigh incredible!' said her aunt, meditatively. 'Were not those the words? It would not be like your uncle to put them in that way unless it were something-even more wonderful, and besides, why should he not write it to me?'
'Oh-h!' cried Constance, with a leap, rather than a start. 'It can be only one thing.'
'Don't, don't, don't!' cried poor Mary; 'you must not, Constance, it would kill me to have the thought put into my head only to be lost.'
Constance looked wistfully at Lady Adela; but the idea she had suggested had created a restlessness, and her aunt presently left the room. Then Constance said-