“The same,” said Ethel. “I can’t bear to leave her alone, and to have said nothing to comfort her.”
“It is too soon as yet,” said Dr. May—“her mind has not taken it in. I hope she will sleep all night, and have more strength to look at it when she wakens.”
“She was utterly unprepared.”
“I could not make her understand me,” said Dr. May.
“And, oh, papa, what a pity she was not there!”
“It was no sight for her, till the last few minutes; and his whole mind seemed bent on sparing her. What tenderness it has been.”
“Must we leave her to herself all night?”
“Better so,” said Dr. May. “She has been used to loneliness; and to thrust companionship on her would be only harassing.”
Ethel, who scarcely knew what it was to be alone, looked as if she did not understand.
“I used to try to force consolation on people,” said Dr. May, “but I know, now, that it can only be done by following their bent.”