“How could you, Neil, dear!” she said reproachfully. “I could not go to bed and sleep knowing you were sitting up with poor papa. How is he now, dear?”
“Just the same, and must be for some time.” Isabel sighed.
“Neil, dear,” she whispered, “I’ve got a spirit-lamp and kettle in the next room, and as soon as you like I’ll make you some tea.”
“Thank you, my dear. Leave it ready and I’ll make some myself.”
“No, no, Neil, dear,” she said, clinging to him. “Don’t send me away. I could not sleep to-night.”
“But you must, dear. I want you to be rested and strong, so as to come and sit with him to-morrow while I have some sleep.”
“Yes, dear, of course,” she whispered, as she crept closer within the protecting arm round her, and laid her head upon her brother’s shoulder.
“Come, come,” Neil whispered, as he stroked her soft hair, “you must not fret and give way. Troubles come into every family, and we must learn to bear them with fortitude.”
“Yes, Neil, dear, and I am trying hard to bear this bravely.”
She nestled to him more closely, and as he smoothed her hair again and stroked her cheek, gazing down the while at its soft outline, he could not help thinking how attractive in appearance she had grown. “There,” he said at last. “Now you must go.”