"What ails you, darling? What are you thinking about?" Queenie would ask her, anxiously, but for many days she would not answer. But one evening as she was lying on her couch, watching the rosy gleam on the water fade into grey silvery streaks, while the soft musical wash of the waves seemed to lull her restlessness for a little, she suddenly stretched out her thin arm and drew her sister's head down to the pillow. "Rest there a few minutes, Queen, you are so tired, and I want to talk to you. Doesn't the moon look lovely shining through the clouds? How many evenings do you think you and I will have together?" "Hush, Emmie; only God knows, not you nor I." "When He says 'Come' I must go, mustn't I, Queen." "Oh yes, my darling!" "I am so tired that I shall not mind going. I have almost forgotten what it is to run about and play as other children do. I think it will be nice to lie down and go sliding through the clouds like that girl in the picture, and then when I wake up there will be Nan and Alice, and Uncle Andrew and mamma. Oh, how nice to see mamma again!" "Nice to leave me, darling?" trying to restrain a sob. "Ah, that is the only sorrowful part," returned the child, pressing Queenie's head between her weak arms. "Oh, my Queen! my Queen! whatever will you do without me?" and for a short time the sisters' clung to each other, unable to speak. Queenie was the first to recover herself. "Never mind, Emmie; you must not fret; God will take care of me." "Yes, I know, but I cannot help fretting. You look so sad and altered somehow, and all the light has gone out of your dear beautiful eyes; you are so good to me, and you smile and try to be cheerful, but I know--I know all about it, Queen." "You know what, my precious?" "Why, I know how lonely you are, and how you miss them all. When I go away," rather timidly, "won't Mr. Garth come and take care of you?" "Emmie, my darling, what has put such a notion into your head?" "Isn't it true then?" half crying. "I thought you were fond of him, and liked him better than any one else. Wasn't he the prince in your stories? he was always dark-haired, and tall, and strong, and that made me think of Mr. Garth." In the dim light a hot flush passed over Queenie's wan face; Emmie softly stroked it with her trembling fingers. "Ah, you will not answer; but I know all about it. I am only a child, but I love Mr. Garth dearly, dearly. Why doesn't he come and see us, Queen? haven't you told him I am ill?" "Yes; he knows it," almost inaudibly. "Then why does he not come?" she persisted. "If I were not tired I would write to him myself; do you think I could?" "Not just now, by-and-bye," she replied, hardly thinking of what she was saying, and trying only to quiet her; and Emmie, satisfied with this vague permission, nestled against her sister contentedly, and said no more. CHAPTER XIV. "EMMIE'S LETTER."