“Yes, yes; but oh, I shall miss you so much! I don’t see what I can do without you.”
“You won’t be all alone, dear,” returned Ethel soothingly; “the dear Lord Jesus will be just as near and able to help and comfort you as ever, and just as ready to hear your prayers as if you were a woman. You won’t forget that?”
“No; but oh, I shall want you too!” wailed Nan, hiding her face on Ethel’s shoulder.
“But, remember, I’m not going far away, dear Nan, and we may see each other very often,” repeated Ethel. “Besides, you will be here with dear Uncle Albert; and the cousins are almost always kind nowadays. Now let us kneel down and say our prayers and then get into bed and go to sleep, and you will feel better in the morning.”
“O Ethel, is this the last time we’ll sleep together?” sobbed Nan, creeping into her sister’s arms as they laid themselves down upon the bed.
“For a while, I suppose,” returned Ethel, trying hard to speak cheerfully. “But don’t think about that, dear Nan, but about the good time coming, when we shall have our own home—all four of us together—and oh, such a good, happy time!”
“But oh, it will be so long to wait,” sighed the little girl, and Ethel felt like echoing the sigh, for her heart was very sore over Nan’s distress as well as her own sorrow, that they must now learn to live apart, at least for a time. But both at length wept themselves to sleep.
The situation did not look very much brighter to them in the morning, and there were traces of tears upon the cheeks of both when they took their places at the breakfast table.
Their aunt had not come down. She was seldom present at that early meal. But all the cousins except Arabella were in their places, and it seemed that all the older ones looked askance and with no very pleasant expression at her.
But her uncle said good-morning in a very kindly tone, and heaped her plate and Nannette’s with the most tempting viands the table afforded.