Ada looked up surprised. "I thought it was Nellie," she said without emotion; "but yet I knew it was not her step."
Christina began to raise her, and Ada so far helped herself as to sit upright and draw the tea towards her.
Christina busied herself in straightening this room as she had done the other, and Ada drank the tea and ate some bread and butter, watching Christina moving about as if in a dream. When it was done, her misery came over her again, and pushing away her plate almost pettishly, she turned round and threw herself over her bed once more, with a bitter cry.
Christina ceased to put the room tidy; kneeling down by the bed, she threw her arm round Ada, and whispered softly, "I know what it is to lose a mother."
"Oh, if she'd only wished me good-bye!" said Ada, sobbing.
"Ah, dear, we always wish some things had been different; but perhaps she could not."
"She did kiss me; but then she fell asleep. Oh, Christina, Christina, she can never know how I loved her, and all I meant to do to be a comfort to her!"
"She will know some day, dear child."
"I was often tiresome," said Ada, heart-brokenly, "often grieved and worried her, and I can never, never show her that I loved her all the same."
"She knew that, dear. I never heard her say one word but of love to you."