Charlotte was as pale now as she had been rosy before, her lip trembled, and her whole face seemed to be suffused with tears.
"I see," she said in turn. "Thank you, Aunt Rachael, thanks ever so much. I--I wish you'd tell his grandmother how sorry I am. I--suppose Fanny and I had better go now."
But before she went Rachael opened her arms, and Charlotte came into them, and cried bitterly for a few minutes.
"Poor little girl!" said the older woman tenderly. "Poor little girl!"
"I always loved you," gulped Charlotte, "and I would have come to see you, if M'ma--And of course it was nothing but the merest friendship b-between Charlie and me, only we--we always seemed to like each other."
And Charlotte, her romance ended, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, and went away. Rachael went slowly upstairs.
Late that same afternoon, as she and the trained nurse were dreamily keeping one of the long sick-watches, she looked at the patient, and was surprised to see his rather insignificant eyes fixed earnestly upon her. Instantly she went to the bedside and knelt down.
"What is it, Charlie-boy?" she asked, in the merest rich, tender essence of a tone. The sick eyes broke over her distressedly. She could see the fine dew of perspiration at his waxen temples, and the lean hand over which she laid her own was cool after all these feverish days, unwholesomely cool.
"Aunt Rachael--" The customs of earth were still strong when he could waste so much precious breath upon the unnecessary address. The nurse hovered nervously near, but did not attempt to silence him. "Going fast," he whispered.
"It will be rest, Charlie-boy," she answered, tears in her eyes.