"Tom, dear?" she asked tenderly. "What is it? Do tell me; what is the matter?"
"She would have told me whether I could go or not," sobbed Tom. "Oh, Nellie, I cannot live without her!"
He sobbed violently, and Nellie knelt down by his side and put her arm under his head, but without her love seeming to make any impression on his grief.
So patiently had he borne his sorrow, that they had almost begun to think it was wearing off; but just now a tender chord had been touched, and it would vibrate.
Sensitive and shrinking, the poor child always depended on his mother's judgment for all he was to do; and now suddenly, when the occasion arose, there was no one to appeal to. It came upon him with a freshness of despair, and at first, he was too overwhelmed to listen to Nellie's assurances of its being possible, or to consider his usual source of comfort.
"Leave me, Nellie," he whispered at last; "I must have time to think."
When his sister came again to see him, peace reigned on his pale little face. He looked up into her eyes, and held out a tiny note. It ran—
"Dear Christina,—At first I thought I could not; but now, if you will excuse such a helpless visitor, I should like to come.
"Your affectionate little Tom."
"You have found your rest again, darling," said Nellie, very low, to him.
"Yes, Nellie. I find if ever I run from under the covert of His wings, I get frightened. But I'm so sorry I grieved you about mamma; you do all you can, Nellie, all that is possible for me, and I do love you and thank you; but sometimes—"