“And I must wait cheerfully too,” she said to herself, as she drew near home and heard the voices of the children. “And after all, I need not fear for Christie. I do believe it will be well with her, whatever happens. Surely I can trust her in a Father’s hands.”
“How long you have been, Effie!” cried her little sister, Kate, as she made her appearance. “Mrs Nesbitt is here, and Nellie and I have made tea ready, and you’ll need to hasten, for Mrs Nesbitt canna bide long; it is dark so soon now.”
Effie’s face brightened, as it always did at the sight of a friend, and she greeted Mrs Nesbitt very cheerfully.
“Mrs Nesbitt has a letter for you, Effie,” said Aunt Elsie; “but you must make tea first. The bairns have it ready, and Mrs Nesbitt needs it after her walk.”
Effie fancied that the letter Mrs Nesbitt had brought came from some one else than Christie, or she might not have assented with such seeming readiness to the proposal to have tea first. As it was, she hastened Nellie’s nearly-completed arrangements, and seated herself behind the tray. Mrs Nesbitt looked graver than usual, she thought; and as she handed her her cup of tea, she said, quietly:
“You have had no bad news, I hope?”
“I have had no news,” said Mrs Nesbitt. “Alexander told me there were two letters for you in the post, so I sent him for them, and I have come to you for the news.”
As she spoke she laid the two letters on the table. One was from Christie, but she broke the seal of the other one first. It was very short, but before she had finished it her face was as colourless as the paper in her hand.
“Well, what is it?” said her aunt and Mrs Nesbitt, in the same breath. She turned the page and read from the beginning:
“My dear Miss Redfern,—I have just returned from visiting your sister at the hospital. I do not think you can have gathered from her letters how ill she is, and I think you ought to know. I do not mean that she is dangerously ill, but she has been lying there a long time; and if you can possibly come to her, I am sure the sight of you would do her more good than anything else in the world. Christie does not know that I am writing. I think she has not told you how ill she is, for fear of making you unhappy; and now she is troubled lest anything should happen, and her friends be quite unprepared for it. Not that you must think anything is going to happen,—but come if you can.
“My dear Miss Redfern, I hope you will not think me impertinent, but father wishes me to say to you that we all beg you will let no consideration of expense prevent your coming. It will be such a comfort to Christie to have you here.”