Christina could only whisper that she had passed through the same anguish herself, and knew how it felt; and then she reminded her, too, of Him who sorrowed and wept with bereaved ones, and of what a tender heart He had. "And think, dear Ada, of her joy now. Think of her redeemed spirit among the multitude whom no man can number. No more pain or anxiety or weariness, but with her Lord, rejoicing in serving Him with perfect service for ever." Ada listened at last, till the soft voice and the comforting words soothed her, and ere long the eyes which had been raised, trying to follow Christina's thoughts right into heaven, gradually closed, and sleep ended to her that mournful day which had found her motherless. Then Christina drew some bed-clothes over her, and putting her head in a more comfortable position left her, glad that for a time she would have some relief from her sorrow. On the next landing she paused, and was just entering the chamber of death when Nellie joined her. They went in, and stood hand-in-hand by the bed. Nellie uncovered the sweet, peaceful face. "She looks just the same," said Christina, very low. "Yes, only so still. She was always doing something for others before," whispered Nellie in return. "What a lovely smile she has. Nellie, I can't cry; I can only feel just now that she has gone in to see the King." "It brings heaven very near," said Nellie. "I have felt as if I had gone almost to the gate." "And dear little Tom?" asked Christina softly. "He seems half in heaven," she answered. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XVII. IN THE NIGHT. "COULD you not save yourself, dear papa?" asked Nellie, looking up in Dr. Arundel's grave face as he prepared to visit his patients the next morning. "No, my child; it would be no 'save' to me to know they were neglected or troubled. I would rather go and see them." Nellie still looked at him; but hardly liked to say more. "I shall do very well, dear," he added; "do not be anxious about me." On that second day Ada was ill. She begged to be allowed to stay in bed, and her father had told her it would be the best place for her. She lay hour after hour in hopeless grief. She wept till she seemed to have no more tears, and her aching, throbbing head warned her that she could bear no more thinking. And yet thought after thought came over her, and again and again she wept, till her heart seemed broken. Tom had asked to be in the drawing room all day, so as to be near Nellie and Christina. He lay perfectly quiet, not crying or making any complaint, his anxiety seeming to be to comfort the others, and be as little trouble as possible. Netta and Isabel brought their work downstairs, and sat in a corner busying themselves over it, wonderfully comforted to think they could be doing what would have pleased their mamma. At times they would be overpowered by fits of weeping; but, as a rule, there was more a subdued sense of loss and sorrow, than any outward show of it.