"You do not speak," she said, "surely, nothing has been said to wound you?"
"No," I answered, "I only come to see if you were in want of anything."
"Ah! you have always been so attentive, so kind! How shall I get along without you?"
So it was decided. He had spoken, and they had settled my destiny; the gentle invalid yielding without a murmur while her best friend was driven from under her roof. I had no heart to continue the conversation, and she, poor lady! evidently lacked the courage to speak plainer. Thus, with apprehensions and grief, we remained together in silence. Her eyes were closed, but not with sleep, I am sure of that; and I felt a dead heaviness creeping over me, which carried with it a dreary sense of pain.
It was getting dark when I left the chamber. The depression was so heavy upon me that I went down to the kitchen, thinking to ask the cook for a cup of warm tea. Lottie was there busy at the range, and, singular enough, making tea, as if my wants had been pined.
"A handful, cook," she said, holding out the silver teapot for a renewed supply. "I want it good and strong, something that will make one's eyes snap."
When the cook turned to put her canister in its place, Lottie went to the closet and brought out two cups and saucers.
"Miss Hyde," she said, "you have just come in time. I knew it'd be wanted: try a good, strong cup, it will have the ache out of your head in no time."
I thanked her and took the cup she offered. It was strong to bitterness, and I did not like the taste; but when I passed it back, Lottie put in more sugar and cream, but no water. I was too weary for protest, and drank the bitterness without further comment.
Lottie seemed pleased, and insisted earnestly that I should take a second cup, filling her own for the third time, and draining it with what I thought must be heroism instead of desire.