"He is dead—or very, very sick—I am sure of that; what else could keep him from home, and mamma calling for him so pitifully? Mary, I am sure that he is dead; we shall never, never see him again!" and, with a burst of terrible grief, the poor child flung her arms around Mary Fuller, and sunk to the floor, almost dragging the little girl with her. "Mary, he is dead—he is dead!"
"Who is dead—who is dead, I say? Why do you crowd the room with those little dancing creatures, all in loose clothes—scarlet, gold, purple, green—why do you not send them away?" cried the voice of Mrs. Chester, and there was a rustling of the bed-clothes, as if she were trying to cast them from her.
The children held their breath, and cowered close together. Again
Mrs. Chester spoke:
"Leave the children, leave them; I did not tell you to drive the children away; Chester, Chester, they are taking our children off; Isabel—Mary Fuller, come back!"
"I am here—no one shall take me away," said Mary Fuller, bending over the bed; "Isabel, too, is close by your pillow—she has been crying to see you so sick; do not mind her eyes, they will grow bright again when you are well!"
Mrs. Chester started up in the bed. A moment of consciousness seemed to come over her. She looked at Mary and at Isabel, and spoke to them in a whisper, leaning half out of bed—
"Girls, where is he? tell me now, Mary, that's a good little girl—what have they done with him?"
The children looked at each other, and Isabel began to sob.
"How long is it since I went to sleep? He was here, you know!" said the invalid.
"Only a little while!" answered Mary, quickly. "You have not slept long."