“Never mind, so that it will hold us, and that we shall all be together,” she returned, with a smile. “But Dulce talked of some plan: you must let me hear it, my dears; you must not keep me in the dark about anything. I know we shall all have to work,” continued the poor lady; “but if we be all together, if you will promise not to leave me, I think I could bear anything.”
“Are we to tell her!” motioned Nan with her lips to Phillis; and as Phillis nodded, “Yes,” Nan gently and quietly began unfolding their plan.
But, with all her care and all Phillis’s promptings, the revelation was a great shock to Mrs. Challoner; in her weakened state she seemed hardly able to bear it.
Dulce repented bitterly her incautious whisper when she saw her sisters’ tired faces, and their fruitless attempts to soften the effects of such a blow. For a little while, Mrs. Challoner seemed on the brink of despair; she would not listen; she abandoned herself to lamentations; she became so hysterical at last that Dorothy was summoned from the kitchen and taken into confidence.
“Mother, you are breaking our hearts,” Nan said, at last. She was kneeling at her feet, chafing her hands, and Phillis 80 was fanning her; but she pushed them both away from her with weak violence.
“It is I whose heart is breaking! Why must I live to see such things? Dorothy, do you know my daughters are going to be dressmakers?—my daughters, who are Challoners,—who have been delicately nurtured,—who might hold up their heads with any one?”
“Dorothy, hold your tongue!” exclaimed Phillis, peremptorily. “You are not to speak; this is for us to decide, and no one else. Mammy, you are making Nan look quite pale: she is dreadfully tired, and so am I. Why need we decide anything to-night? Every one is upset and excited, and when that is the case one can never arrive at any proper conclusion. Let us talk about it to-morrow, when we are rested.” And, though Mrs. Challoner would not allow herself to be comforted, Nan’s fatigue and paleness were so visible to her maternal eyes that they were more eloquent than Phillis’s words.
“I must not think only of myself. Yes, yes, I will do as you wish. There will be time enough for this sort of talk to-morrow. Dorothy, will you help me? The young ladies are tired; they have had a long journey. No, my dear, no,” as Dulce pressed forward; “I would rather have Dorothy.” And, as the old servant gave them a warning glance, they were obliged to let her have her way.
“Mammy has never been like this before,” pouted Dulce, when they were left alone. “She drives us away from her as though we had done something purposely to vex her.”
“It is because she cannot bear the sight of us to-night,” returned Phillis, solemnly. “It is worse for her than for us; a mother feels things for her children more than for herself; it is nature, that is what it is,” she finished philosophically; “but she will be better to-morrow.” And after this the miserable little conclave broke up.