"She is up-stairs--you mustn't go to her, Hugh!" said Fleda laying a detaining hand upon him with more strength than she thought she had,--"I don't want anything."
"Why mustn't I go to her?"
"I don't think she wants to be disturbed--"
"I must disturb her--"
"You musn't!--I know she don't--she isn't well--something has happened to trouble her--"
"What?"
"I don't know."
"And is that what has troubled you too?" said Hugh, his countenance changing as he gained more light on the subject;--"what is it, dear Fleda?"
"I don't know," repeated Fleda, bursting into tears. Hugh was quiet enough now, and sat down beside her, subdued and still, without even desiring to ask a question. Fleda's tears flowed violently, for a minute,--then she checked them, for his sake; and they sat motionless, without speaking to one another, looking into the fire and letting it die out before them into embers and ashes, neither stirring to put a hand to it. As the fire died the moonlight streamed in,--how very dismal the room looked!
"What do you think about having tea?" said Barby opening the door of the kitchen.