Both the sisters grew silent, and the color faded slowly from their faces. They looked at each other with yearning fondness, and, as if influenced by one feeling, the eyes of both filled with tears.
“It can hardly be called a separation,” said Ross, touched with lively sympathy. “There need not be a day in which you cannot see each other.”
“She must go,” faltered Ruth, stretching forth her arms. “To keep her with us would be cruel.”
Eva sunk upon her knees by the couch, and buried her face in Ruthy’s bosom.
“No! no!” she said. “We cannot part; not while they have need of me.”
“But, remember mother, how much more you would be doing for her and James, who felt it so hard to give up school,” pleaded Ruth. “This is a poor place for you, my sister.”
“But is it better for you and mother?” questioned Eva, almost indignantly, for the temptation to go was strong within her, and she hated herself for it.
“But we will soon make this home pleasanter for them than it has ever been,” said Ross.
“Who is that? Mother?” cried Ruth, who heard a woman’s step in the porch. “She will think with us, I am sure, Eva.”