"I will ring for it." Christina turned to the somewhat disordered room, and began putting the chairs in their places, and making it look as usual. Nellie watched her in silence, feeling too miserable to do anything else. When Simmons came in answer to the bell, Christina asked if she might have a cup of tea to take to Miss Ada. "Oh yes, ma'am," said Simmons, "it is ready, for we have just made our kitchen tea." She hastened away, and in a minute brought back three cups of hot tea, and some bread and butter. "You and Miss Nellie had better take some too; the Doctor will not be in till nearly six, ma'am." "Drink yours, Nellie," said Christina; "I shall take this to Ada first. I can stay a day or two if you like." "Like!" answered Nellie. "It would be the greatest comfort I could have." "Dear Nellie, I am so glad to hear you say so. I shall be so glad to help you. I told my aunt not to expect me back yet." "How did you hear?" "Your father telegraphed to me this morning." She took the tea and went up into the darkened room, passing on her way that other room, so still and quiet, where she longed to enter, but must not yet. Ada lay much in the same position as she had done in the morning, and Christina closed the door and placed her little tray on the table, in a firm audible way which somewhat aroused her. She listened, without moving; and Christina, when her preparations were completed, came to her side, and said kindly, "Here is your tea, Ada." Ada looked up surprised. "I thought it was Nellie," she said without emotion; "but yet I knew it was not her step." Christina began to raise her, and Ada so far helped herself as to sit upright and draw the tea towards her. Christina busied herself in straightening this room as she had done the other, and Ada drank the tea and ate some bread and butter, watching Christina moving about as if in a dream. When it was done, her misery came over her again, and pushing away her plate almost pettishly, she turned round and threw herself over her bed once more, with a bitter cry. Christina ceased to put the room tidy; kneeling down by the bed, she threw her arm round Ada, and whispered softly, "I know what it is to lose a mother." "Oh, if she'd only wished me good-bye!" said Ada, sobbing. "Ah, dear, we always wish some things had been different; but perhaps she could not." "She did kiss me; but then she fell asleep. Oh, Christina, Christina, she can never know how I loved her, and all I meant to do to be a comfort to her!" "She will know some day, dear child." "I was often tiresome," said Ada, heart-brokenly, "often grieved and worried her, and I can never, never show her that I loved her all the same." "She knew that, dear. I never heard her say one word but of love to you." "No; oh, no! But, Christina, it is too dreadful; I could not believe it could be so."