“My dear, I’m not a bit of a father confessor, and we have quite trouble enough in the house at present without raking up what you have done. There, if you like, I’ll tell you. You have, all three of you, been abominably careless and selfish. We won’t add any more to that; it is quite bad enough. There is such a thing as turning over a new leaf, and whether you have the strength to turn over that leaf God only knows—I don’t. The thing at present is to face what is before us.”
“You will tell us, Horry, won’t you?” said Nesta, in a coaxing tone. She could not for the life of her help coaxing any one she came across.
“I will tell you. I haven’t come into this room to be mealy-mouthed or to hide anything from you. Our mother is very ill; the doctor thinks it quite possible that she may not live until the morning.”
“Then I’ll die, too,” said Nesta.
“Nonsense, Nesta. Don’t give way to selfishness just now. You are in no possible danger.”
“I’ll die; I know I’ll die.”
“Hush!” said her brother sternly; “let me go on with what I’ve got to say. Our mother is in danger; you cannot be with her, for, alas, when you were given the chance you would not take it. You never really nursed her; you never—not for a single moment—saw to her real comforts. Therefore, now in her hour of peril, you three—her own children—are useless. Nevertheless, the doctor thinks it best that you should not undress. You must stay in your room, ready to be called if it is necessary.”
“If?” said Molly. “Why, what is going to happen? Why must we be called?”
“Poor children! she may want to speak to you.”
“I won’t go,” said Molly.