I didn't know what he meant, and I was too weak to ask.
"Somebody is coming to take care of you, whom you will be glad to see," he went on.
I didn't ask who. It only seemed so odd he should speak of me being "glad" about anything. I couldn't think I ever should feel "glad" again.
And yet he was in the right. I knew it, two hours later, when my bedroom door opened, and Mary Russell walked in.
She looked so pale, and her eyes were red with crying. But when she sat down on the bed, and took me into her arms, I did feel a sort of rest that was almost like gladness.
"My poor Kitty!" she whispered.
"I don't think I believe it," I said, looking up in her face. "I don't think it's true."
Then I broke down, and cried pitifully. But soon I said again, "It isn't true. It can't be true. I think we shall wake up."
"Yes, by-and-by," she said. "When we wake up in heaven, all sorrow over. That will be a wonderful awakening, Kitty," says she. "And, dear, you'll come there to meet him," says she.
"O Mary, you won't go! you won't leave us!" I begged; for I felt as if there was nobody else to rest on.