"She was not able to come," he said in a low voice.
"But where is she? Is she in the next room?"
John bowed his head over the tray, but made no answer. "Here, eat thy egg, little one; it will be cold."
"Mother always lifts the top off for me," said she with a sob.
"Ah, so she does. I am afraid father is a poor old stupid, is he not?"
She looked up hurriedly, her father's voice sounded so strangely and his fingers trembled as he tried clumsily to lift the white top off the egg. Then she saw that tears were streaming down her father's face and trickling down his beard; and thinking she had pained him by her words, she threw her arms around his neck and cried out sorrowfully,—
"Thou best father, thou art not a bit stupid. I love thee, oh so much. The breakfast is too nice; only mother always eats a piece of my cake and drinks some of the milk, and thou must do so too."
"Yes, yes, of course." John drew his hand hastily across his face, and broke off a piece of the cake. He drank a mouthful of the milk, and then quickly rising, he laid the piece of cake on the table by the stove, and went into the other room.
It was the next day that Violet was told the truth, though the truth was to remain to her for many a long day a strange and cruel mystery. When she opened her eyes at the usual hour the following morning her father was not there, and only old Kate the servant, who waited on all the various lodgers in John's house, was in the room, standing by the stove, and pouring some water into a saucepan.
"Where is father?" asked Violet, raising herself up painfully in the bed, and gazing around her with a frightened air.