"But, Mamma," said Hugh, after he had gathered breath for it, "do you mean to say that everything, literally everything, is gone? Is there nothing left?"
"Nothing in the world not a sou."
"Then what are we going to do?"
Mrs. Rossitur shook her head, and had no words.
Fleda looked across to Hugh to ask no more, and putting her arms around her aunt's neck, and laying cheek to cheek, she spoke what comfort she could.
"Don't, dear aunt Lucy! there will be some way things always turn out better than at first, I dare say we shall find out it isn't so bad by and by. Don't you mind it, and then we wont. We can be happy anywhere together."
If there was not much in the reasoning, there was something in the tone of the words, to bid Mrs. Rossitur bear herself well. Its tremulous sweetness, its anxious love, was without a taint of self-recollection; its sorrow was for her. Mrs. Rossitur felt that she must not show herself overcome. She again kissed and blessed, and pressed closer in her arms, her little comforter, while her other hand was given to Hugh.
"I have only heard about it this morning. Your uncle was here telling me just now a little while before you came in. Don't say anything about it before him."
Why not? The words struck Fleda disagreeably.
"What will be done with the house, Mamma?" said Hugh.