“Cannot we help you?” said Ethel.
“I don’t know. Thank you. But, Dr. May, I must not keep you from other people—”
“I have no one to go to this morning,” said Dr. May. “I am ready to stay with you, my dear.”
Meta came closer to him, and murmured, “Thank you!”
The breakfast things had, by this time, been taken away, and Meta, looking to see that the door had shut for the last time, said, in a low voice, “Now tell me—”
Dr. May drew her down to sit on the sofa beside him, and, in his soft, sweet voice, told her all that she wished to learn of her father’s last hours, and was glad to see showers of quiet, wholesome tears drop freely down, but without violence, and she scarcely attempted to speak. There was a pause at the end, and then she said gently, “Thank you, for it all. Dear papa!” And she rose up, and went back to her room.
“She has learned to dwell apart,” said Dr. May, much moved.
“How beautiful she bears up!” said Ethel.
“It has been a life which, as she has used it, has taught her strength and self-dependence in the midst of prosperity.”
“Yes,” said Ethel, “she has trained herself by her dread of self-indulgence, and seeking after work. But oh! what a break up it is for her! I cannot think how she holds up. Shall I go to her?”