When they had parted from Mrs. Metherell, Maggie turned to her mother, and asked curiously: "Have we any relations, mother?"
"Yes, my dear."
"They never write to us, mother?"
"Never."
A cloud seemed to have overshadowed the mother's face, and she sighed. She was unusually quiet all the rest of the day, though the children found so much to talk about, and when they had fallen asleep that night, she still sat on by the scanty fire, deep in thought.
By-and-by she roused herself, and fetched writing materials, and tried to write a letter. It was evidently a difficult task, for after writing a few halting lines, she put down her pen, and covering her face with her hands wept bitterly.
"Oh!" she sobbed, "if father would only forgive me for the children's sake!"
She turned to her letter again, but she could not express in words the feelings of her heart, and at last she laid down her pen in despair. The next few days passed uneventfully; but one evening there was a knock at the door of the Blundells' home, and Maggie, who hastened to answer it, exclaimed as she peeped out:
"Oh, sir! Oh, mother! It's Mr. Blewett!"
The medical student came in, and with that adaptability which promised to do much towards making him a popular doctor some day, soon made himself at home. Mrs. Blundell stood by smiling as he talked to her little girls, his keen eyes fixed on Annie, in whose case he already felt an interest.