Her sister turned around once and looked at her, thinking she was asleep.
But suddenly in the darkness that began to pervade the room, Xenie caught a faint and smothered moan of pain.
Instantly she hurried to Lora's side.
"My dear, are you in pain?" she said.
Lora raised herself and looked at Xenie's anxious face.
"I—oh, yes, dear," she said, in a frightened tone; "I am ill. Pray go and send mother to me."
Mrs. St. John pressed a tender kiss on the pain-drawn lips and hurried out to seek her mother.
She found her in the little dining-room of the cottage laying the cloth and making the tea. She looked up with a gentle, motherly smile.
"My dear, you are hungry for your tea—you and Lora, I expect," she said. "I let the maid go home to stay with her ailing mother to-night, and promised to make the tea myself. It will be ready now in a minute. Is Lora asleep?"
"Lora is ill, mamma. I will finish the tea, and you must go to her," said Xenie, with a quiver in her low voice, as she took the cloth from her mother's hand.