"You are not ill, are you, Emmie? What do they mean by making me so unhappy? They say you are thin and weak; but there is nothing the matter, is there?"
"I don't know," faltered the child, resting her fair head on her sister's shoulder. "I think I am only tired, Queenie. Ought people to be so very, very tired, and to have their bones always aching?"
"That is because you are not strong, my precious." But somehow, as Queenie uttered the words, the conviction seized on her that Dora was right, and the child was certainly thinner and lighter; and such an intolerable feeling of agony came over her at the thought that she could not bear it.
"Oh, my darling, forgive me!" she sobbed, kissing the little pale face passionately.
"Forgive you! What do you mean? What makes you cry so bitterly, Queen?"
"Forgive me. I was too wrapped up in myself to notice. I never meant to neglect you, Emmie, never. What does my happiness or unhappiness matter if I can only keep you with me, my blessing?"
"Shall you want to keep me if I get too dreadfully tired?" she asked, languidly. "Don't cry any more, Queen, I will stop just as long as I can." But Queenie only shivered afresh and dried her eyes.
"Sit by the fire, darling," she said, trying to return to her usual manner. "Patience shall give you your tea. I shall not be very long, Emmie."
"Are you going out again?" in a disappointed tone. "The muffins are all ready, and I thought we should be so cosy this evening."
"I shall not be long," repeated her sister, hastily.