My darling came, looking pale and harassed; but for the moment her face lighted up, and she approached me eager and breathless.
"You are better, dear Aunt Matty? Say that you know me."
"Know you, my darling?"
I tried to say this, and felt very helpless when my voice died away in a strange whisper; but a glow was on my face, and I know that my lips smiled, though they could not speak.
"You know me!" she cried, joyously.—"Oh! Lottie, it is true, she knows us—she will get well!"
Had I been ill? Was that the reason I felt so like a little child?
Jessie read this question in my eyes and answered it, kissing my forehead with her cool lips.
"Oh, yes, Aunt Matty, so ill! Out of your head, poor soul!"
Out of my head! The thought troubled me. Why? Had I anything to conceal? To question one's soul requires strength, for it is a stern task. I was very weak, and so put the subject aside. The very sight of Jessie's face had wearied me.
She sat down on the bed, and then I saw how sad and thoughtful she had become. Her very lips were pale, and her eyes were shaded by their inky lashes, which threw her whole face into mourning. Had she suffered so much because I was ill, or were other sorrows distressing her?