She was established one day in an arm-chair in the sitting-room with some light, pretty work in her lap and a pile of stereoscopic pictures on the table at her side. Marion was at school and all the family were busy in their several ways. Therese was not sorry to be left alone. They were all so kind to her that she felt as if she were ungrateful not to be interested, and it was very hard work to care for anything just now. She leaned back in her chair with closed eyes, and presently tears came starting out from under the long black lashes.
"Tired, lassie?" said old Hector, sitting down beside her and laying his broad hand on hers.
"Not—not so very," answered Therese.
"You are getting better very fast."
"Yes, I suppose so," Therese answered, but somewhat languidly, as if she did not feel much interest in the question.
"Are you not glad to get well?" asked the old man.
Therese answered, after a little pause of consideration, as it seemed, "I am willing to get well."
"Is that as far as you can get, poor lassie? That is hardly right for a young thing like you."
"I'm afraid it is," answered Therese, with rather a wintry smile. "I am not ungrateful, indeed, Mr. McGregor; I feel how kind every one has been to me; but I feel so left, so alone, as if I had no more place and nothing to do. Everybody is very good, but nobody seems to need me."
"I think I understand," said Hector McGregor. "You have always made your poor mother your chief object, and now she is gone, you feel as if you had nothing more to do."