Nellie still looked at him; but hardly liked to say more.
"I shall do very well, dear," he added; "do not be anxious about me."
On that second day Ada was ill. She begged to be allowed to stay in bed, and her father had told her it would be the best place for her.
She lay hour after hour in hopeless grief. She wept till she seemed to have no more tears, and her aching, throbbing head warned her that she could bear no more thinking. And yet thought after thought came over her, and again and again she wept, till her heart seemed broken.
Tom had asked to be in the drawing room all day, so as to be near Nellie and Christina. He lay perfectly quiet, not crying or making any complaint, his anxiety seeming to be to comfort the others, and be as little trouble as possible.
Netta and Isabel brought their work downstairs, and sat in a corner busying themselves over it, wonderfully comforted to think they could be doing what would have pleased their mamma.
At times they would be overpowered by fits of weeping; but, as a rule, there was more a subdued sense of loss and sorrow, than any outward show of it.
Arthur only broke down once, and that was when he had first gone in to see his mother's face. After that he was silent and thoughtful, and only desirous of helping Nellie.
How sad were the details of the mourning and the funeral preparations. Nellie was thankful that Ada was out of it all. She continued very unwell, and would accept no one to wait on her but Christina, who went in and out with the greatest kindness and consideration.
One morning after she had put Ada comfortable, and made all neat, she stood by the bedside looking earnestly at her.