“Ah!” said Kate, with the wistful look coming in her eyes again; “it seems as if all the happy old things are to be no more.”
“No, no, my dear; you must not talk so. You not twenty, and giving up so to sadness! You must try and forget.”
“Forget!” cried the girl, reproachfully.
“No, no, not quite forget, dear; but try and bear your troubles like a woman now. Who could forget dear old master, and your poor dear mother? But would they like you to fret yourself into the grave with sorrow? Would they not say if they could come to you some night, ‘Never forget us, darling; but try and bear this grief as a true woman should’?”
“Yes,” said the girl, thoughtfully, “and I will. But I don’t feel as if I could be happy here.”
The maid sighed.
“Uncle is very kind, and my aunt is very loving in her way, but I feel as if I want to be alone somewhere—of course with you. I have lain awake at night, longing to be back home.”
“But that is impossible now, darling. Cook wrote to me the other day, and she told me that the house and furniture had been sold, and that the workmen were in, and—oh, what a stupid woman I am. Pretty way to try and comfort you!”
“It’s nothing, ’Liza. It’s all gone now,” said the girl, smiling piteously.
“That’s nice and brave of you; but I am very stupid, my dear. There, there, you will try and be more hopeful, and to think of the future?”