"Kitty, there's only one way to take it," Mary whispered. "God sends the trouble, and it is His will. If you will have it from His Hand, He will give comfort with the pain."
But in those days I only loved my own will, not the will of my Heavenly Father.
We didn't say any more then, for I had had enough. Still, I was not satisfied, and I kept thinking over all that had to be, and later in the day I asked Mary—
"Where will mother and I have to live?"
"Nothing is settled yet," Mary answered. "We shall see better in a few weeks. When you are gone to Mrs. Withers, I shall take Mrs. Phrynne to my old home."
Take mother to Littleburgh! I didn't notice the word "old," or I should not have been so surprised. To think of mother under the same roof with Walter Russell did astonish me.
"Not Littleburgh, but Bristol," Mary said gravely. "Littleburgh would not do. Mr. Baitson wants her to be in some quite new place, away from all that reminds her of her trouble. We think Bristol will be best; and friends are so kind in giving help."
"And can you be away all this time from—" I said, and stopped, the colour coming over my face. I hadn't spoken or heard of her brother since my father's death.
"Yes," Mary said; and she didn't speak a word more. I could not understand her look. It meant something particular, I didn't know what.
Three days later, when I was just dressed, having got up for the first time before dinner, Mary said—