“Here is the young girl that Mrs Lee sent.”
The lady took her hand from her eyes, and raised herself up. Seating herself in a large chair by the bed, she beckoned to Christie to come towards her.
“You came from Mrs Lee, did you?” said she.
Christie came forward. The lady observed her for a moment.
“Mrs Lee told me you were young, and not very strong,” said she; “but I had no idea you were quite such a child.”
“I am past fifteen,” said Christie.
“And do you mean to tell me that Mrs Lee trusted her children to you—that infant too—through all her illness?”
“Mrs Greenly was in the house nearly all the winter, and she was in the nursery very often. That was all the help I had,” said Christie, with a slight change of colour.
“And was it you who took care of little Harry, and who was with him when he died?”
The remembrance of that sorrowful time was too vivid for Christie to bear this allusion to it unmoved. She grew quite pale, and took one step forward towards a little table, and laid her hand upon it. Miss Gertrude, who had been watching her with great interest, rose and brought forward a chair, looking towards her mother, without speaking.