"Oh, dad!" cried Dina, clasping her little hands together. "Nothing wrong with mother?"
"Geraldine—Gerald—my poor little twins," said the father, for once shaken out of his selfishness, "you have no mother. Your mother died last night."
"O God! God!" moaned Dina, as she crept upstairs and throw herself down upon her bed. "I wanted so to go to mother, and You've taken her away. Please let me go to her where she is! Oh, please God, do take me too!"
* * * * *
The last sad rites had been over for about a month, and the dreary home had settled back into its usual dull routine.
Mr. Ellis had now gone back to his musty parchments, his ancient curiosities, his old coins and antique gems; and the twins saw no more of him than they had done before their mother's death.
Their governess had been out of health during her summer holidays, and had been unable to return to them; their father's half-hearted attempt to secure another had hitherto met with no result. So the children wandered aimlessly about the house, grounds and neighbourhood, Gerald very often vexed at his sister's listlessness and want of zeal in their games and other occupations.
One day he missed her, in the afternoon, and found her at last in one of the spare rooms which went by the name of Brother Bob's room.
On the wall of this room there hung a life-size oil-painting of a handsome youth some fourteen years of age, whom the twins knew as Brother Bob. There had always been something of a mystery about Brother Bob, and Gerald and Dina had never seen him, and only knew him by his picture. All they could learn about him from their old nurse (who had returned to them since the death of Mrs. Ellis) was that Bob was a son of Mr. Ellis by a former marriage, and was a mere infant when his mother died.
His father had sent him to be brought up by an elder sister of his own, who had spoilt the boy by over-indulgence, so that he had grown up disobedient, self-willed and headstrong.