"I'll ring for--no, stay, I'll fetch it myself," said Basil, with quick understanding. "I shouldn't like the servants to know he had been _crying_--poor man," he thought to himself as he left the room. And in two minutes he was back with a glass of wine and water.
"I made Sims put some sherry in it," he said half apologetically. "You've knocked yourself up somehow, Herr Wildermann, haven't you?"
And Ulric drank obediently, and managed this time to smile more successfully. "How kind and thoughtful the boy was--how could he be the cause of such sorrow, if indeed he understood it!" thought the young man to himself.
"I--yes--perhaps it was the hot sun," he said confusedly, as he put down the glass. "Thank you, very much. I am all right now. Had we not better begin? Not that I am hurried," he went on. "I can stay a full hour from now. I have no engagements--nothing to hurry me home," he added sadly, for in his heart he was thinking how he dreaded the return home, and what he would have to tell his poor old mother.
"But what's the matter?" persisted Basil, who, now that the ice was broken, felt inclined to get to the bottom of things. "What are you so troubled about--what were you----?" He hesitated and stopped short, and again his rosy cheeks grew redder than usual.
Herr Wildermann looked up. He was still very pale, but he did not seem self-conscious or ashamed.
"You saw my distress?" he said quietly. "Ah, well, I could not help it--the thought of my poor mother----" He turned away and bit his lips. "I thought you knew the cause of it," he went on; "your lady mother, did you not know--did she not tell you that she meant to-day to give me notice that the lessons are to cease--that this is to be the last?"
Basil opened his mouth as if he meant to say something, and stood there, forgetting to shut it again, and staring up in Ulric's face, though no words came. Ulric, after waiting a moment or two, turned away and began arranging the violins. Then at last the boy ejaculated--
"Herr Wildermann, you--you don't mean to say----" and stopped short again.
"To say what?" asked the young German, but without much tone of interest in his voice. He had quite mastered himself by now--a sort of dull, hopeless resignation was coming over him--it did not seem to matter what Basil said about it; it was all settled, and the momentary gleam of good-fortune which had so raised his hopes had faded into the dark again. "We must go back to Germany," he was saying to himself. "Somehow or other I must scrape together money enough to take my mother back to her own country. There at least she need not starve. I can earn our daily bread, even if I have to give up music for ever."