CHAPTER IV.

BROTHER BOB.

SO the twins' letter was folded and addressed to their father, and left on the hall table.

The night before, they had packed a few clothes in a black bag taken from the box-room, and, now quite ready for their journey, they went down to breakfast.

Their father did not breakfast with them, but had his meal brought to him upstairs, so they could freely discuss their plans. They were just rising from the table when there came a double knock at the front door, and the parlour-maid took in a telegram and carried it up to Mr. Ellis. The twins went on with their chatter, debating where to leave the letter they had written to their father.

Suddenly Mr. Ellis's bell rang loudly, once, twice, thrice; and before it could be answered, he came out in his dressing-gown on to the stairs.

"Is the boy waiting? Let him take this reply!" he called in a hoarse, strained voice. "And tell Jack to harness the mare at once. I want the dog-cart to take me to the station and catch the next train."

"What can it be?" whispered Gerald. "Something has happened."

But before his sister could answer, their father's voice was heard calling them. Such a strange, broken voice, too—so different from his usual querulous, peevish, high-pitched tones.

They ran up, and he met them, and they saw his face was white and drawn and full of pain.

"Children," said he, "I've had bad news—the worst you can imagine."

"Oh, dad!" cried Dina, clasping her little hands together. "Nothing wrong with mother?"

"Geraldine—Gerald—my poor little twins," said the father, for once shaken out of his selfishness, "you have no mother. Your mother died last night."

"O God! God!" moaned Dina, as she crept upstairs and throw herself down upon her bed. "I wanted so to go to mother, and You've taken her away. Please let me go to her where she is! Oh, please God, do take me too!"

* * * * *

The last sad rites had been over for about a month, and the dreary home had settled back into its usual dull routine.

Mr. Ellis had now gone back to his musty parchments, his ancient curiosities, his old coins and antique gems; and the twins saw no more of him than they had done before their mother's death.

Their governess had been out of health during her summer holidays, and had been unable to return to them; their father's half-hearted attempt to secure another had hitherto met with no result. So the children wandered aimlessly about the house, grounds and neighbourhood, Gerald very often vexed at his sister's listlessness and want of zeal in their games and other occupations.

One day he missed her, in the afternoon, and found her at last in one of the spare rooms which went by the name of Brother Bob's room.

On the wall of this room there hung a life-size oil-painting of a handsome youth some fourteen years of age, whom the twins knew as Brother Bob. There had always been something of a mystery about Brother Bob, and Gerald and Dina had never seen him, and only knew him by his picture. All they could learn about him from their old nurse (who had returned to them since the death of Mrs. Ellis) was that Bob was a son of Mr. Ellis by a former marriage, and was a mere infant when his mother died.

His father had sent him to be brought up by an elder sister of his own, who had spoilt the boy by over-indulgence, so that he had grown up disobedient, self-willed and headstrong.

Nurse had seen the lad several times years ago, and she still kept a soft spot in her heart for the poor, naughty scapegrace. Dina soon found this out and shared it, and often she betook herself to this room (which had been his when he stayed with his father during school holidays), and remained there studying the bright, frank young face, so full of spirit and promise—and wished she had a big grown-up brother.

Once, indeed, she had gathered up her courage and asked her father where Brother Bob was, and why he did not come to see them; but Mr. Ellis had turned upon her angrily and forbidden her ever again to mention Bob's name.

And nurse had shaken her head and said sadly, in her old-fashioned way:

"Ah, well-a-day, Miss Dina, my darlin'! If his own father won't hear him spoke of, sure the master knows somethin' as we don't, and I fear me the poor lad has gone to the bad."

What the exact meaning of the phrase "gone to the bad" might mean, the twins, even after heated discussion, could not agree, but the cloud of mystery that overhung it seemed to make much worse any meaning it might have.

"Why are you mooning in front of that picture?" said Gerald. "I want you to come out with me. The nuts are ripe now in Hazel Copse, and if we don't pick them, the village children will. Come along."

And with a lingering look at the picture, Dina turned and went with her brother.

Together they explored the nut wood, filling their baskets and chatting the while. Thus the afternoon passed, and the autumn twilight began to close in.