"Your father has had a serious illness, my dear—a very, very serious and sudden illness, and your mother wishes you to go home at once."
Hilda looked at her with frightened, questioning eyes, while every vestige of color left her cheeks. "Is he—is he——" she asked.
"Here is an inclosure for you," Miss Purcell said, as she got up, and taking Hilda's hand in one of hers drew her with the other arm close to her; "your mother wrote to me that I might prepare you a little before giving it to you. A terrible misfortune has happened. Your dear father is dead. He died suddenly of an affection of the heart."
"Oh, no, no; it cannot be!" Hilda cried.
"It is true, my dear. God has taken him. You must be strong and brave, dear, for your mother's sake."
"Oh, my poor mother, my poor mother!" Hilda cried, bursting into a sudden flood of tears, "what will she do!"
It was not until some time afterwards that she was sufficiently composed to read her mother's letter, which caused her tears to flow afresh. After giving the details of her father's death, it went on:
"I have written to your uncle, General Mathieson, who is, I know, appointed one of the trustees, and is joined with me as your guardian. I have asked him to find and send over a courier to fetch you home, and no doubt he will arrive a day or two after you receive this letter. So please get everything ready to start at once, when he comes."
Two days later General Mathieson himself arrived, accompanied by a courier. It was a great comfort to Hilda that her uncle had come for her instead of a stranger.
"It is very kind of you to come yourself, uncle," she said as she threw herself crying into his arms.