"You would do just as well without me as with me," she said.
"I shouldn't do at all. I should die too," said Bert. "But don't talk of dying; just wait till you've had some of this beef-tea, and you'll feel as fit as possible."
As he spoke he lifted the lid of the saucepan, and a savoury odour was emitted. Bert's nostrils inhaled it with avidity. He was so hungry that he could have despatched in a few minutes all that the saucepan contained. But he had no intention of tasting more than a few drops, just to assure himself of the success of his cookery. Bert was feeling rather proud of his first attempt at making beef-tea. He had spent the last of the doctor's shilling on the beef—which was not of the primest quality—had got a hint from Mrs. Kay how to set to work, and the result was now to be tested. But the odour which Bert found so savoury only sickened the Princess, and to his keen disappointment she could not drink the weak, greasy decoction which he presently set before her.
"Take it away," she cried impatiently; "I don't like it; I don't want it."
And then to Bert's dismay, her head sank forward on her hands, and she began to sob helplessly. This was unlike the Princess, who was usually quick and imperious in her ways, and, though by no means sweet-tempered, perfectly self-controlled.
She signed to Bert to help her back to bed, and he obeyed. She sank down, hid her face in the pillow, and sobbed with hysterical violence, crying between her sobs,—"I wish I were dead. I do—I do!"
Bert stood looking at her in utter helplessness. He was devoted to his sister; but he was wont to regard her as one far stronger and more spirited than himself. She was his ruler, and her government was not of the gentlest description; but her faithful slave never rebelled. Their father had always petted and indulged her, while he made small account of Bert, whose appearance was mean and insignificant. The Princess was ever the Princess, to be treated with the first consideration, and given the best of everything it was possible to obtain. Bert had learned the lesson well. It never occurred to him to question her right to supremacy. He was as obedient to her now as he had been in the days when his father was at hand to insist upon his doing as she told him. It was positively alarming to Bert to see his sovereign thus prostrate.
"Don't cry, Princess," he pleaded; "oh, please, don't cry! It ain't no manner of use to cry. If things is bad to-day, they'll be better to-morrow."
"They will never be better for us," sobbed the Princess. "Look what a hole we live in! Could any one be well here?"
Bert thought he might be well enough there, if only he had something to stay the gnawing pain of hunger, of which he was just then disagreeably conscious. But he did not speak of his own feelings.