So you will please come down and have your tea in the drawing-room by
yourself, Miss Hetty."

"Is she more ill than usual? Much more?" asked Hetty. "The doctor was
here this morning."

"She's as ill as can be," said Polly, "and all of a sudden. But you
can't do her any good. And you'd better come down to your tea."

Hetty followed Polly without saying more, though she felt too anxious to
care about her tea. She was greatly frightened, yet hardly knew why, as
Mrs. Rushton was often ill, and the doctor was often sent for. There was
a general impression in the household that the mistress sometimes made a
great fuss about nothing, fainted, and thought she was going to die, and
in a few hours was as well as usual. But no one in the house felt as
anxious about her as Hetty. During the pleasant weeks that had lately
passed over her head Hetty had been more drawn to her benefactress than
she had ever been before. No longer snubbed and neglected in strange
uncomfortable places, she had, in becoming more happy, also become
more loving. She knew that she owed all the enjoyments of her present
life to Mrs. Rushton, and if she was not allowed to be much in the
company of her adopted mother she thought it was not because she was
forgotten, but because Mrs. Rushton was too ill to see her. She believed
herself really very greatly beloved by her benefactress, and had begun
to love her very much in return. Seeing her lying on her couch, quiet
and gentle, making no cruel remarks and laughing no cynical laughs,
Hetty had constructed a sort of ideal mother out of the invalid, and
endowed her with every lovable and admirable quality. This comfortable
little dream had added much to the child's happiness in her life of
late; and now she felt a wild alarm at the thought of the increased