Devereux was in his mood. He was proud--he had no notion of apologising.
But looking another way, and with his head rather high, he hoped Miss
Lilias was better.
Well, well, the spring was coming; and Parson Walsingham knew the spring
restored little Lily. 'She's like a bird--she's like a flower, and the
winter is nearly past,' (and the beautiful words of the 'Song of Songs,'
which little Lily so loved to read, mingled like a reverie in his
discourse, and he said), 'the flowers will soon appear in the earth,
the time of the singing birds will come, and the voice of the turtle be
heard in our land.'
'Sir,' said Dick Devereux, in a voice that sounded strangely, 'I have a
request; may I make it?--a favour to beg. 'Tisn't, all things
remembered, very much. If I write a letter, and place it open in your
hand--a letter, Sir--to Miss Lily--will you read it to her, or else let
her read it? Or even a message--a spoken message--will you give it?'
'Captain Devereux,' said the doctor, in a reserved but very sad sort of
way, 'I must tell you that my dear child is by no means well. She has
had a cold, and it has not gone away so soon as usual--something I think
of her dear mother's delicacy--and so she requires care, my little Lily,
a great deal of care.
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