Mr. Woodstock sometimes sat by her whilst she slept, or seemed
to be sleeping; when she stirred and showed consciousness of his
presence, he left her, so great was his fear of annoying her, and
thus losing the ground he had gained. Once, when he was rising to
quit the room, Ida held out her hand as if to stay him. She was
lying on a sofa, and had enjoyed a very quiet sleep.
"Grandfather," she murmured, turning to face him. It was the first
time she had addressed him thus, and the old man's eyes brightened
at the sound.
"Are you better for the sleep, Ida?" he asked, taking the hand she
had extended.
"Much; much better. How the sun shines!"
"Yes, it's a fine day. Don't you think you could go out a little?"
"I think I should like to, but I can't walk very far, I'm afraid."
"You needn't walk at all, my dear. Your carriage shall be here
whenever you like to order it."
"My carriage?"
The exclamation was like a child's pleased wonder. She coloured a
little, and seemed ashamed.
"How is Mr. Waymark?" was her next question.
"Nothing much amiss now, I think. His eyes are painful, he says, and
he mustn't leave the room yet, but it won't last much longer. Shall
we go together and see him?"
She hesitated, but decided to wait till he could come down.
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