"Why are you so particular to-day, Edith?" she continued, as that young lady flitted about, looping and relooping the soft lace curtains, pouncing on every stray speck of dust, and sweeping every medicine-bottle out of sight. "Jane tidied the room as usual this morning, and yet here you are, poking into every corner, and arranging and rearranging everything. One would think the Queen was coming to see me. What is the reason of it all?" and Winnie looked decidedly curious.
"So you are going to have a visitor, dear," replied Edith, bringing a fragrant nosegay over to the bedside and laying it on the snowy pillow. "Now don't ask me any questions, for I dare not tell. Only wait patiently and you will see for yourself."
The child did not seem particularly charmed. "I hate visitors, Edith," she said, the sunshine dying out of her face, and the restless, weary look stealing into her eyes; "they make my heart full of wicked, rebellious thoughts when I see them coming into the room so well and strong. I detest their long faces and sympathetic remarks. Ugh! I suppose they mean to be kind, but when they speak I feel as if I hated everything and everybody."
"I don't think you will tell me all that this afternoon," replied Edith with a knowing smile. "It is always the unexpected that happens, and I shall be very much surprised if you do not count this day as one of the bright spots in your life.—Ah, there is the bell. Give me a kiss, Win, and keep a pretty smile for the unwelcome visitor." So saying Edith tripped away, and Winnie waited in gloomy silence the advent of the hated guest. Why could people not leave her alone? Why did they require to come and flaunt all their bright, strong health before her? She wished none of their sympathy and condolences—only leave her alone to her grief and misery.
These being her thoughts, it was a very cross, peevish face which met Miss Latimer's gaze as she entered the sick chamber in company with Mrs. Blake and confronted the little invalid.
"I have brought a friend to see you, dear," said the step-mother, smiling down on the quiet figure with its weary, pain-stricken face. "You will be pleased to welcome her, I know, and have so much to talk about that my presence can be easily dispensed with for a little time." As she spoke, Mrs. Blake smoothed the sick girl's brow lovingly, and then withdrew, leaving the two friends together once more.
There was no need to ask, "Are you glad to see me, Winnie?" for the great eyes, shining with a wonderfully joyous light, told the tale the lips refused to utter. Forgetting her helplessness, the child stretched out her arms and tried to rise, but sank back with a low cry of pain, and those piteous words, "O Aunt Judith, come to me quickly, for I cannot go to you."
Miss Latimer was greatly moved, and could do nothing at first but kiss the little face once so fresh and sweet, now pinched and wan with suffering.
"Dear child," she said at length, "my heart is bleeding for you. Tell me, Winnie, how did all this happen?" and with Aunt Judith's arms round her, and a sense of peaceful rest stealing over her weary frame, the sick girl told all that there was to tell, simply, truthfully, with no attempt to screen herself from blame.
"I was wrong to speak as I did," she finished sadly, "but I had provocation. O Aunt Judith, I cannot express the awful feeling of hatred I bear towards Ada, when I think that if it had not been for her I should be running about in the sunshine now."