I need not have worked so hard; that was my first thought when I saw
mother's face as she entered the room. She was trembling like a leaf,
and her face was all puckered and drawn, as I kissed her; but Uncle
Geoffrey would not let her sit down or look at anything.

"No, no, you shall not make efforts for us to-night," he said,
patting her as though she were a child. "Take your mother upstairs,
children, and let her have quiet! do you hear, nothing but quiet
to-night." And then Allan drew her arm through his.

I cried shame on myself for a selfish, disappointed pang, as I
followed them. Of course Uncle Geoffrey was right and wise, as he
always was, and I was still more ashamed of myself when I entered the
room and found mother crying as though her heart would break, and
clinging to Allan.

"Oh, children, children! how can I live without your father?" she
exclaimed, hysterically. Well, it was wise of Allan, for he let that
pass and never said a word; he only helped me remove the heavy
widow's bonnet and cloak, and moved the big chintz couch nearer to
the window, and then he told me to be quick and bring her some tea;
and when I returned he was sitting by her, fanning and talking to her
in his pleasant boyish way; and though the tears were still flowing
down her pale cheeks she sobbed less convulsively.

"You have both been so good, and worked so hard, and I cannot thank
you," she whispered, taking my hand, as I stood near her.

"Esther does not want to be thanked," returned Allan, sturdily. "Now