"I'd like to see him," said the old woman covering her eyes with her withered hand. "I thought he was comin'."
"Perhaps something may bring him, some day. I dare say you will see him by and by — I don't know how soon."
"I'll see him there," said the old woman. "I can't stay here long."
"Why, you don't seem any worse, Karen, do you? Aren't you going to be well again?"
"Not here," said the old woman. "I'm all goin' to pieces. I'll go to bed to-night, and I won't get up again."
"Don't say that, Karen; because I think you will."
"I'll go to bed," she repeated in a rather plaintive manner.
"I thought he'd be here."
It touched Elizabeth acutely; perhaps because she had so near a fellow feeling that answered Karen's, and allowed her to comprehend how exceedingly the desire for his presence might grow strong in one who had a right to wish for it. And she knew that he would reckon old Karen his friend, whatever other people would do.
"What can I do for you, Karen?" she said gently. "Let me be the best substitute I can. What can I do for you, that he could do better?"
"There can't nobody do just the Governor's work," said his old nurse. "I thought he'd ha' been here. This'll be my last night, and I'd like to spend it hearin' good things."