Her mind went round and round the corners of the house—the sitting-rooms, the bedrooms, the nursery; and for once in her life, Ada Arundel was thoroughly frightened at the desolation her imagination had conjured up.
A soft footstep entered the dark room, a footstep she knew and loved.
"Is either of you awake, dears?" said a gentle voice.
"I am, mamma," answered Ada, starting up with such an overpowering sense of relief that she burst into tears.
"I was only afraid of frightening you," answered Mrs. Arundel. "I came up for the glycerine."
"Oh, mamma, do kiss me!" said Ada in a broken voice.
Mrs. Arundel made her way to the side of the bed, and, feeling for her eldest daughter, folded her in her arms.
"Oh, mamma," said Ada again, "I did not know I loved you so much!"
"My dear," questioned Mrs. Arundel, while she kissed the wet face fondly.
"Oh, don't leave us, mamma!" sobbed Ada.