"Not in bed all night! That was wrong. How cold your hands are? Go to bed now, dear."
"I cannot. I do not wish to."
"My poor, doubly bereaved child, how much I feel for you!" he said, in a tender tone, and still holding her hand.
"Do not mind me, Uncle Clarence. I do not feel for myself. I am numb. I feel nothing—nothing," she replied.
Mr. Clarence, still holding her hand, led her to a large easy chair, and put her in it.
Then he went and rang the bell.
"Tell the cook to make a strong cup of coffee as quickly as she can, and bring it up here to Mrs. Rothsay," he said to the man who answered the call.
The latter touched his forehead and left the room.
Mr. Clarence had tact enough not to worry his niece with any more words. He went and opened one of the front windows to look out upon the wintry morning. The ground was covered very deeply with the snow, which was now falling so thickly as to obscure every object.
When the servant entered with the coffee, Mr. Clarence himself took it from the man's hand, and carried it to his niece and persuaded her to drink it.