I told her none. Once more she raised those resistless eyes to mine.
"Then I am, indeed, alone in the world—alone and forsaken."
"Nay, nay!" I cried, eagerly; "do not say so. Clare will take care of you."
"And you?" she asked, in a voice that must have melted an anchorite.
"I will help her—or, rather, I will take care of you both."
"What is your sister like?" she asked, eagerly. "Is she very clever—very beautiful? Shall I be frightened at her?"
"She is the sweetest and most gentle of girls—doubly gentle from her great affliction."
"What affliction?" she asked eagerly, "you did not tell me there was anything the matter with her."
"She has a spinal complaint," I replied, "and is unable to move."
"Is it quite incurable?" she asked again.