“Hal-loa!” From her brother, sitting up in bed.
“You made me jump, Charley.”
“Jump! Didn’t you make me jump, when I opened my eyes a moment ago, and saw you sitting there, like the ghost of a girl-miser, in the dead of the night.”
“It’s not the dead of the night, Charley. It’s nigh six in the morning.”
“Is it though? But what are you up to, Liz?”
“Still telling your fortune, Charley.”
“It seems to be a precious small one, if that’s it,” said the boy. “What are you putting that little pile of money by itself for?”
“For you, Charley.”
“What do you mean?”
“Get out of bed, Charley, and get washed and dressed, and then I’ll tell you.”
Her composed manner, and her low distinct voice, always had an influence over him. His head was soon in a basin of water, and out of it again, and staring at her through a storm of towelling.
“I never,” towelling at himself as if he were his bitterest enemy, “saw such a girl as you are. What is the move, Liz?”
“Are you almost ready for breakfast, Charley?”
“You can pour it out. Hal-loa! I say? And a bundle?”
“And a bundle, Charley.”
“You don’t mean it’s for me, too?”
“Yes, Charley; I do, indeed.”
More serious of face, and more slow of action, than he had been, the boy completed his dressing, and came and sat down at the little breakfast-table, with his eyes amazedly directed to her face.
“You see, Charley dear, I have made up my mind that this is the right time for your going away from us. Over and above all the blessed change of by-and-bye, you’ll be much happier, and do much better, even so soon as next month. Even so soon as next week.”
“How do you know I shall?”
“I don’t quite know how, Charley, but I do.” In spite of her unchanged manner of speaking, and her unchanged appearance of composure, she scarcely trusted herself to look at him, but kept her eyes employed on the cutting and buttering of his bread, and on the mixing of his tea, and other such little preparations. “You must leave father to me, Charley — I will do what I can with him — but you must go.”
“You don’t stand upon ceremony, I think,” grumbled the boy, throwing his bread and butter about, in an ill-humour.
She made him no answer.